by Mia Ford
I dropped down to my knees, just yearning to kiss those perfect abs, and worked at his belt while I was in the neighborhood. He helped me, and before long, his pants joined his shirt in a heap on the floor. I stared at his cock – long, hard and straight, poking out at me from his boxers. His delicious looking cock, like his physique, was absolutely perfect. I couldn't help but stare, my mouth agape, as I took in the beauty before me.
I couldn't help but touch him – I stared in awe as I ran my hands over those abs. Eventually, I took his cock in my hand, squeezing it tight and stroking it gently before eventually, sliding it into my mouth. I couldn't take him all the way in, he was too long and too thick, so I stroked him with one hand as I sucked on the tip. He groaned, his eyes partially closed as he stared down at me while I licked and sucked on that glorious dick of his.
But he wouldn't let me do this for long. He pulled me up by my hair and kissed me, long and hard, as he motioned for me to lay back. Together, we fell to the couch, him on top of me and he kissed my mouth again as he pressed himself against me. I spread my legs and with one hand, he reached down and slipped my panties off – tossing them onto the ever-growing pile of clothing on the floor. Something I took to be the mark of a successful evening.
Before I even had time to ask him to put on a condom, he was inside of me. One thrust and he was sheathed deep inside of me completely, and my eyes nearly bulged out of my head from the surprise. I let out a gasp, but it wasn't a gasp of pain – it was one of complete and utter bliss. All thoughts of condoms and safe sex suddenly evaporated – all thought of anything really – and I was nothing more than a bundle of sensation.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, pushing upward to meet his thrusts. Each and every one of his deep strokes pulled a moan from my throat, and he held himself above me, moving in and out of me like a pro, like a man who really knew his way around a woman's body. He was glistening with sweat, a look of pure rapture upon his face, and his every muscle at work as he fucked me and it was a glorious sight.
His eyes were squeezed nearly shut as he was lost in the moment, but I watched his facial expressions closely, enjoying the look on his face as he fucked me. I could feel myself growing tighter, the pleasure intensifying as I shuddered against him. He was sheathed inside of me, and my muscles clenched tightly around his cock.
“Jesus,” he said, his head falling forward. “You're so fucking tight. I'm not sure how long I can last.”
Truthfully, I wasn't sure either. Not with how fucking amazing he felt inside of me. From the sounds coming from his throat, I knew he was close – so very close – and so was I. But he stopped, suddenly, pulling his dick out of me as he grabbed me by my hair. I was so caught up in the pleasure of the moment, I barely had time to register the fact that he was turning me over until he bent me over the armrest of the couch. My ass was in the air and I looked back at him just as he buried himself deep inside of me again, without so much as a warning.
“Holy fuck,” he said, grabbing onto my ass and lifting me toward him.
My entire body was convulsing by that point. I was a rag doll, entirely at the whim of his movement as he held me there, moving in and out of me with such precision and speed. The sound of our flesh slapping together echoed throughout the room. My mind was spinning and before I knew what was happening, I was gripping onto the couch and holding on for dear life, crying out in pleasure.
“Oh God!” over and over again since I didn't know his name.
His nails were buried into the flesh of my ass as he pummelled himself deep inside of me one last time, sending my body bucking wildly against him, squirming against him as I came hard. Harder than I had in a long time – if ever.
My whole body felt like it was on fire. I needed this. Oh, God, I needed this tonight. After years of terrible sex with Charlie, to be fucked by someone like this guy – whatever his name was – had been a blessing. More than I'd hoped for when I set out on my mission earlier in the evening. And he was driving me absolutely wild.
I could tell by his frantic, nearly frenzied movements that he was close – and I remembered at the last minute about the lack of a condom. I was on the pill, so pregnancy was not a concern for me. And it was already too late to worry about any diseases really, so I did the only thing I could do – I just pushed myself backward into him, taking him deeper inside of me one last time as he spilled his seed, cumming inside of me with one, long, loud animalistic groan.
And afterward, he just held me there for a few moments, still laying on top of me, still sheathed inside of me. We both relaxed against each other as my heartbeat slowly returned to normal. He gently put my feet back down on the ground and helped me stand up, sliding out of me as I did. His cum slid down my legs as I got to my feet, and I had to admit, it was pretty damn hot.
“Follow me,” he said, taking me by the hand.
“Where are we going?” I asked, my legs feeling a bit wobbly.
“To bed,” he said. “But just to sleep, I swear.”
I wanted to argue with him, to tell him I should get going. Staying overnight with somebody hadn't been my plan, hadn't been what I'd set out to do that evening, and it would be awkward to wake up next to him in the morning. But I was so tired, I wasn't sure I could even get dressed. And sleep, letting my body rest for a bit, sounded absolutely wonderful at the moment.
We curled up, naked, in his bed, our bodies, still slick with the sweat from our exertions, pressed together. He wrapped his arms around my waist as we spooned – an awkward position when you hardly know a person. I appreciated the cuddling, but deep down, it all felt so odd to me. This was the first time I'd ever slept with someone like this – my first one night stand – and I was so confused as to whether this was normal or not. I eventually drifted off to sleep, but I didn't sleep well. I kept waking up disoriented, not sure of where I was at, and feeling out of place.
Eventually, around four that morning, I'd had enough. He was snoring away, in a deep sleep, and I figured it was probably the best time to sneak out. I'd call a cab and catch a ride home before he woke up, sparing us both the awkwardness of the morning after, of having to make conversation. Hell, we didn't even know each other's names – could it be any more awkward?
Before leaving the bedroom, I looked back at him, resting peacefully and had to smile. He was gorgeous, so incredibly sexy, and we'd shared something last night. There was a connection between us – at least on a physical level. Our bodies had communicated in a way that we hadn't been able to verbally.
It was most definitely something I wouldn't soon forget. He'd given me more than an orgasm; he'd helped me realize that there were other men out there. Men who would find me desirable. Sexy, even. Charlie, wasn't it for me, and I deserved better. I could have thanked him for that – but I wasn't going to stick around to do that. I wanted to be long gone before he ever woke up.
I slipped quietly from his bedroom and moved on tiptoes down the hall. I picked up my clothes from the living room floor and quickly got dressed. Once I'd dressed and had slipped out of his house, I'd called for a cab.
Standing on the curb outside, I turned around and admired his house. It really was a magnificent home, and I had to wonder why he was living there all by himself. Unless, of course, he wasn't. Maybe he had a wife who was out of town. I knew absolutely nothing about this man. He very well could have an entire family off at Disneyland for all I knew.
It just didn't add up to me. A guy like him living in a large house like that all by himself? How did he afford it? Why did he choose to live in such a big place all alone?
But I didn't spend too much time questioning it. None of it mattered. After all, I was never going to see him again, so wondering over his living arrangement didn't matter. Once the cab pulled up, I gave the driver my address and felt relief as we drove away. I'd managed to have a night of intense pleasure with no awkwardness after. As much as I'd have loved to fuck him again someday, it just wasn't in the cards.
I
didn't have time for a rebound boyfriend, not right now. And I knew better than to expect anything from a guy who takes a girl home to fuck without so much as knowing her name. As nice as he might have seemed – and he did seem nice – he didn't put off the vibe that he wanted something serious.
Which was a blessing because truthfully, neither did I.
ooo000ooo
By the time I got home, it was after five in the morning. I groaned when I looked at the clock, realizing that I had to work a few hours later. I put on some coffee and trudged down the hall so I could shower and get ready for the day.
As I stared in the mirror, I could see the exhaustion written all over my face. But along with the dark circles and red, puffy eyes, there was something else there too. I smiled in the mirror and it felt genuine. For the first time in a long time, I was smiling again. There was a lightness to my spirit that hadn't been there for a long, long time. Charlie hadn't broken me, thank God.
I applied concealer to my under-eye circles, but kept the makeup pretty minimal. Nothing like I'd worn on my night out. I had no one I needed to impress at work. I just needed to look professional and clean. My hair was thick and long, and I didn't want to blow dry it, so I pulled it back in a bun, pinning it in place as I straightened my side-swept bangs.
I looked in the mirror again after fixing myself up and nodded approvingly. You could hardly tell I was tired. Okay, maybe if you looked close enough, you could see it. But I looked better than I had before at least. And being tired was okay. No one had to know the reason for why I'd gotten so little sleep the night before. My personal life wasn't their business.
I left a few minutes early and stopped at Starbucks, grabbing a coffee before catching the BART into the city. As I waited in line, I felt confident and happy, which was a really nice change of pace for me. As I approached the barista, I smiled at the familiar face and ordered my usual.
“Vanilla latte with soy milk, no whip, please.”
“Sure thing, Amelia,” the girl said, remembering my name even though I couldn't remember hers. “And the Americano as well? Like usual?”
My heart sank. “Uhh no thank you.”
The Americano was for Charlie. I usually picked up his drink and we met at the BART station where we'd ride into the city together.
The poor girl had no idea why my face fell so quickly, so I feigned a smile for her and shrugged casually, as if it were no big thing.
“Me and Mr. Americano broke up,” I said.
“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.”
She seemed genuinely sorry, and for that reason, I made every effort to read her name tag.
“It's okay, it was for the best, Tara,” I said quietly.
Who knew getting your morning coffee could be such a downer?
DREW
I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to will myself to get up, get showered, and get dressed. Last night had been fun – the most fun I'd had in a long time. But there was still that overwhelming sense of loneliness I faced most days since returning from overseas. My phone buzzed with some belated birthday greetings from relatives that I'm surprised even remembered my name – an uncle who lived in the Midwest, who I'd met maybe once or twice, a cousin I used to be close with before leaving to serve overseas, and a few other people.
I closed out of those notifications, and when my phone went off again, I cursed. But this time it was just a reminder.
“Therapist appointment with Dr. Emerson at nine,” I read out loud.
I rolled my eyes and considered calling to cancel. But even though I briefly considered it, I knew it wasn't actually an option for me. Missing an appointment with the exalted Dr. Emerson would screw up a lot of things – including the disability payments that paid for my food and shit. The house was paid for, free and clear thanks to my folks, but living wasn't cheap. Even when you were living rent-free.
The girl I'd brought home last night left – snuck out in the middle of the night. And yeah, that made me feel like shit. Not that I'd expected anything more than a one-night stand with her, but some breakfast – and maybe even getting her name – would have been nice. But she snuck out at some point, leaving me alone in my bed, making me wonder if I'd imagined fucking her in some elaborate masturbatory fantasy.
Except, I knew it wasn't a dream. It had been too good and I hadn't been fucked up enough to dream up something like that.
Nah, she'd just snuck out in the middle of the night. Not that I blamed her. It was usually pretty awkward to wake up and look your one-night stand in the eye. Sharing conversation over breakfast? Probably too much to ask.
I took a piss and stared at myself in the mirror, not liking what I saw. The scruff on my face getting a little out of control and I looked exhausted. I should shave before my appointment, but I didn't feel like it. Not that it mattered anyway. Not like I had a job to go to or anyone to meet. Besides, I was just meeting this Dr. Emerson dude, and who the fuck cared what he thought? He was just giving me a psych evil. Hell, maybe the scruff on my dishevelled appearance would help my case some – so I left it.
After a quick shower, I let my hair go wild too. It was short to my head, almost military cut but with a little length on the top. Now that I didn't need to keep my hair cropped close, I could do whatever the fuck I wanted with it. And letting it grow out sounded good to me. Again, it just added to the stereotype a bit more. Rugged vet, down on his luck, haunted by the demons of war.
Yeah, since I was pretty much a poster boy for the anti-war crowd, I might as well look the part.
A pair of jeans and a black sweatshirt I'd been given as a parting gift after leaving the Navy was my signature look these days. I wasn't dressing to impress anyone after all. A quick run into the city, meet with the good doctor and then back here for a nap before God knew what later in the evening. Maybe some video games. Maybe see if the pussy whipped guys who called themselves my buddies could get together again tonight, to make up for being lame asses the night before.
I sighed, unable to avoid the reality that my life was a shitshow. If it wasn't for the fact that my parents had money, I'd have been one of those homeless vets on the street. Or worse. Probably dead in a gutter somewhere.
I was one of the lucky ones, that was for sure. Which was another reason I didn't want to blow the appointment for my evil – even though I didn't think it would do any fucking good anyway.
ooo000ooo
“I'm here to see Dr. Emerson.”
“Oh, she's running a little behind today,” the friendly receptionist said flashing me a smile that was blindingly bright – her teeth far too white to be real. “But she will see you in just a moment.”
She. My therapist was a woman? For some reason, I pictured a balding older man with glasses. Maybe a little on the overweight side wearing an ugly sweater vest. But Dr. Emerson was a woman. I would be telling my entire life story and deepest problems to a woman. I didn't consider myself a sexist by any stretch of the imagination, but honestly, I wasn't sure how comfortable I was about that. There was some dark shit in my head and I wasn't sure about having a woman opening up that Pandora's Box.
Hell, maybe I was a little sexist after all. But in my defence, I would feel the same way about a woman giving me a hernia check. There was some shit only guys could relate to. Or so I thought.
I consoled myself with the idea that I could always request a change in doctors – which I might do after today, depending on how it went. But I was going to be fair and give the lady a chance. I told myself that I wasn't going to be a sexist pig about it. And I kept telling myself that as I took the forms and started filling them out in the waiting room.
I read through all of the questions and just shook my head. Did I drink? Hell, yeah, I had a few pops now and then. But I wasn't an alcoholic or anything like that. I always hated answering shit like this, there was hardly ever any wiggle room and I always got the feeling people were judging me based on my answers. I had a drink now and then, but I didn't spen
d every night all fucked up. But the only answer I could give was a yes or no. There was no maybe or chance to explain.
Yes, I drank. How much? I had a beer or so almost every day. But it wasn't as bad as it sounded, so I fudged a bit and checked the box that said a couple times a week. I'd make my own wiggle room.
Drugs? No. That one was easy. Well – except for smoking pot now and then back in the day. I'd had to be clean in the service and I'd pretty much stayed that way. Even now. I couldn't remember the last time I'd fired up a joint.
I went down the checklist, ticking the box that said no to most of the health issues. I had no heart problems, no vision issues. My cholesterol and blood pressure were normal.
Anxiety? Ehhh – maybe. But anyone who'd been through what I had in the service would probably have some anxiety, right? That wasn't abnormal?
Depression? Define feeling depressed.
“Fuck this,” I said, just marking no to everything on the list.
I came here to be diagnosed, I didn't need to tell them my mental issues. It was their job to give me the psych evil, not make me do all the work. I'd never been diagnosed with anything, so that helped. This would be a first.
I handed over the paperwork and sat back down to wait. The television in the waiting room kept playing the same medical information over and over again. Why even have a television for your clients if you're not going to let us watch something good while we wait?
I sighed and flipped open a magazine – some entertainment rag – and saw a photo spread from a new movie with Brad Pitt. A war movie, of course. And as I stared at the photos of the beautiful holiday celebrities decked out in military garb, I cursed to myself about how much they got wrong. Except, of course, there was some unknown actor in the back, behind Pitt, and I couldn't stop staring at him.
He reminded me of Mason.