by M. Mabie
This man.
Laugher shot out of me, erupted really. He was so serious and trying his best to be debonair. It was too much. Or maybe it was one of those moments where your happiness escapes through your mouth like a bank robber sprinting for a getaway car. And I fell back on the bed in a fit of ridiculous laughter, holding my stomach.
“Oh, that’s good!” I hollered. “You're so full of shit!”
“What?” He looked hurt. “I thought it was a good idea.”
After I sorted myself out and my laughter wound down to simmering giggle, I asked, “So, what on Earth do you think you could possibly do to merit one of those?” In his distraction, Casey deep in thought, I was finally able to snatch the paper sack away from him.
Sweet Jesus. They were really in the bag.
Maybe I wasn't giving him enough credit. I made a snap decision to up the ante. He didn't know how good the Quadruple Chocolate cheesecakes were. Otherwise, he wouldn't have made such an elementary offer.
“Okay, but first you have to take a bite.” His face twisted not understanding what I meant.
“I win already?” he asked.
“No way. Not even close. I want you to know what you’re fighting for.”
“Oh, I know what I'm fighting for.” His words played into my hand, but they hung heavily in the charged air between us. He walked to me on the bed as I unceremoniously unwrapped one of the treats he'd brought.
He could have that one, the one with the piece missing. That was, if he earned it.
With the fork that I found at the bottom of the bag, I sank it deep into the cheesecake. My mouth watered.
“Come here,” I said. He leaned over and put his hands behind his back and opened his mouth wide for a taste.
“Ahhh,” he sang.
Putty. This man was putty.
“Close your eyes.” He followed my instruction well.
As he waited for the chocolate, my body committed a crime. I stole his bite. The forkful of smooth, creamy dessert almost melted on my tongue.
I moaned.
He peeked.
I smiled, because I was caught.
I only had one option. Kiss him with it still in my mouth.
I lunged up to his mouth and paused right before our lips made contact. This wasn't some normal cheesecake, this was crack. After he got a taste, I was certain he'd do anything for more. It was going to be beautiful torture.
Our mouths collided. A low growl came from his chest and he steadied himself against my shoulders and pried our mouths apart.
“You're in deep shit,” he said and licked his lips.
Then his tongue. Then his lips again.
I was lost. I couldn't even answer.
“I'm getting that cake, honeybee,” he said as he took the bag, the cake and the fork from my hands and lap. He placed it on the bedside table. “I might even want both pieces now.”
My shoulders shook as my chuckle tumbled out. “You've got a lot of work to do.”
“Maybe even overtime,” he added like the Devil.
“Maybe. You better get shakin'. I plan on having both of my cakes and eating them in front of you.”
He ripped his shirt over his body and threw it across the room, not even caring enough to see that it landed on the wall sconce by the television.
My cheeks hurt from smiling.
He kicked off his shoes.
“You look good, by the way,” he said as he undressed himself. Tossing socks and shoes anywhere they landed. His jeans came off and then he was just a man in boxers grinning ear to ear.
“Thanks, so do you.”
“Are you ready for this?” he asked, but it sounded more like a warning. The smile from his mouth was gone—he had put his game face on—but it was still present in his eyes.
He sunk a knee into the top of the feather bed and like a lion teasing his prey he waited for the right moment. Then he took my body by storm, stripping me of every stich I wore.
A better woman than me could say she resisted, but I couldn't. I'm not that good of a woman. I gave my body to him. He kissed my legs and my stomach. He did things to me with his fingers that made the levity of the earlier moment transform into meditation. Every muscle I possessed flexed at one time or another, of their own free will, and at times I thought were odd.
His tongue slid up the center of me and he hungrily sucked at the most divine spot. He was merciless and voracious for me. It was then that the fibers of my lower back tensed and my spine arched, offering my breasts to the open air between me and the ceiling.
As he slid into me from behind—after rolling me over and then lifting me to my knees, his front against my back—he said my name. My hands balled and made fists with my fingers as I clutched his hair behind me.
My legs quaked. His hands wrapped around my waist and held me possessively as together we bent over. My face laid flat against the sheet. His breathing and mine synced to rhythm of our movements. Back and forth, push and pull, became the tide that the moon in my very being orbited.
He rolled me over and pulled me to the end of the tall mattress. Casey spread his legs so that our bodies could align at the right height. He moved my legs to his shoulders and began a measured pace.
He pulled the left side of his bottom lip into his mouth and then kissed my ankle, never taking his eyes off me.
“How do you feel this good?”
At first I assumed I'd only thought the words. It wasn't until he replied, “I have motivation. That's how,” did I even know that I wasn't mute after all.
“Motivation?” I panted. He deepened the pressure upon every push inside my body. His hips ground, swirled, and then struck again. It drove me mad.
Then something changed in his eyes. It was like his lustful bones and muscles and tempered skin were in the driver's seat, but his head chose to take the bus.
Our eyes met and did the speaking for us. They said everything our mouths wouldn't.
He looked exquisite and torn.
“What are you thinking about?” I whispered, like it was a secret and I didn't want anyone else to hear.
“I'm thinking about how every second that I'm not buried inside you, I think about this. And then I think, here I am, and it's still not enough.”
He bent forward and paired our lips, my legs falling to the sides of him. His hands swept under my head as he kissed me.
Our faces contorted. Not the erotic faces you'd want to see. But they were honest and didn't hide how they felt. I wished I were more like my orgasm face. It was the most honest of all my faces. Only with Casey though. Only with him.
We climaxed like that. Our releases finally caught up with us and rushed into our bodies as if it was but one crest and we shared it. My brow furrowed and my mouth fell open.
No sounds left our mouths.
No breaths took leave of our chests.
Everything stopped except a handful of pulsing muscles that met at the center of us.
It was neon darkness at zero decibels. Everything, and also just this one tiny, precious thing at the same time.
When both of our bodies gave up and the throb between us subsided, he inched his way up onto the bed and dragged me up with him. Then he collapsed on top of my chest.
I lay there and ran my fingers through his hair. It was sweaty in the back and it felt cool against my hot fingertips. As I breathed, a hum began in my throat that I neither agreed to nor protested.
It was the most peaceful moment.
He looked up at me and said, “I really want that cheesecake.” He then took my relaxing nipple into his mouth, re-energizing the sensitive tip, and it tightened again with his new attention.
I didn't know where it came from, surely my actual self would have went for the cheesecake, but at the moment I wanted to indulge myself with him. He was my guilty pleasure. Cheesecake wasn't even on my radar.
I convinced him to take a shower with me. By convince, I mean, I got up walked into the bathroom and hooked my fin
ger at him saying, “We need to wash up before we eat.”
While I washed my hair, he kissed my neck.
I looked for the evidence of his broken collarbone, and found a small knot still present where I'd seen it before. I washed his back with my bare hands. It was the cleanest back in history.
I couldn't stop touching him.
He washed between my legs and said, “God, I want to feel you bare. I don't want anything in between us.” His unfiltered words again took me by surprise, but when he put it like that, I had to agree. In our situation, we could have tolerated a few less obstacles.
We christened the shower in the Hotel Max with as much enthusiasm as we had the bed minutes earlier.
“So, how about this Quadruple Chocolate cheesecake?” Casey asked.
I'd forgotten about the cheesecake.
“You deserve both pieces,” I said with gratitude. “But I'll give you the bigger one instead.”
We ate it on the bed wearing over-sized bath towels and watched Food Network. He told me about his sisters and the meetings he lined up for that Monday and Tuesday. He said he hadn't even rented a room yet and I told him that was good because he could have that one.
He still had a hang-up about sleeping together.
He walked me down to the front drive of the hotel when my cab came.
I told him we were even for the room because of the cheesecake and he laughed as he kissed me into the taxi.
I spent the next day picking out plumbing fixtures with my mother as Grant tore the bathroom in the new house a part. Casey and I text back and forth all day. He told me that he actually went back to The Confectional and got more mini-cakes and that I was right about how good they were.
When my mother remarked on how much I was texting Grant and that he probably wasn't getting much done, I just laughed. An omission I supposed. When we got back to the house and after we measured a few windows for blinds, Grant called out to me and asked to grab his phone from the car. My mom didn't say anything, but I saw an expression cross her face that I didn't recognize before, then she went back to what she was doing.
I met Casey at a breakfast place by his hotel on Tuesday morning. He had a meeting and then an early afternoon flight.
We talked and laughed, like we always did.
He was charming and charismatic, like he always was.
He rubbed his foot against my ankle under table and that was new.
We made arrangements to meet up in cities when we could, which wouldn't be all that difficult. And when we could, we would attend the same events.
We met in Tucson a few weeks later, and Minneapolis the week after that. We shared leads and I found myself asking my customers about their beer selection and Casey recommended me to more than a few places he visited.
Those weeks flew by on the road. It was the days in between trips that seemed to drag on and on.
Me: Why is wool so scratchy?
Casey: Is this a joke or are you really asking?
Me: Asking.
Casey: I don't know, it sucks. You know it's like sixty-five here today, so I wouldn't know. California is better than Washington.
Me: Wool isn't everything.
Casey: I have beer?
Me: You always have beer. I can't move.
Casey: Come on. You miss me.
Me: I miss your big cock.
This was something new for us. It wasn't a few weeks after Casey was in Seattle before we tried to sext or have phone sex, as they say, I was really terrible at it though. He always sounded sexy and in character, where I was even more awkward that I was in real life.
Casey: My cock only gets one adjective?
Me: I miss your cock. There. Better?
Casey: No. My massive, cunt-hungry, pussy-pleasing cock is offended.
Me: You are a sick man.
Casey: You'll get there. You just have to keep practicing. Now. You were saying... you miss my cock?
I missed all of him, but that felt even dirtier to admit.
Friday, November 14, 2008
I HAVE TO ADMIT, honeybee is terrible at sending dirty messages. The other day I asked her for a dirty picture and she send me a picture of her upper thigh. Her thigh.
It's a great thigh, but come on. What did she expect?
I replied with my elbow. I may have overreacted.
She knew her proclivity for being verbal wasn't the best. Especially in a fabricated situation like being on the phone. It was so weird, because in person, she was a siren. She said the right things, her body moved like a diamond stylus needle on vintage vinyl, flawlessly teasing me. Her needy voice was seductive and her scent could drive me mad. Her taste? God, I could go on forever.
But her dirty phone talk was funny. Maybe it was the frustration I could hear in it, whereas when we were in person, I didn't allow her to get that worked up. I couldn't. I wanted her just as bad, probably more, than she wanted me.
“Are you touching yourself?” I asked the night before the night before Christmas. The holidays were shaping up to be shitty. There wasn’t very many shows planned then. When most people just wanted to spend time with their families, I wanted her to be with me.
That's what I told myself, I that I wanted her away from her family and to be somewhere with me. Deep down, I knew that wasn't true at all. What I wanted was to be sharing those holidays together with our families.
Maybe we would have spent Thanksgiving here and she could have met my mom, Dad and Carmen, and the girls. We'd have Thanksgiving dinner with my mom and Cory, and Micah now, too, since they were expecting.
My mom would want her to cook, fearing that her dinner wouldn't be worthy in front of a trained chef. Blake would gush over the food. My mom was a great cook and Blake loves food. She was probably one of the least picky eaters I'd ever met.
Then we'd go to my Dad’s and play games with the girls and eat crappy pie that they'd made themselves. Special for the holiday. The girls would love Blake and ask all sorts of questions. Carmen would pretend to be cool like her for my father’s sake.
My dad would probably be more in love with Blake than I was.
She'd play cards with us. Probably drink too much, but still win every hand. She had those kinds of powers. Her ability to will things her way potent. I was no stronger than a deck of cards.
In my fantasy, that really wasn't a fantasy at all, we'd spend Christmas with her family up north. I'd try my damnedest to make her Dad and older brother like me. I'd bring them all cases of beer, which was the key to making friends—if Bay’s profit margin had anything to say about it.
I'd court her mother every chance I'd got. I'd compliment her telling her that she should be proud of such an independent daughter. I'd tell her that she'd get along with my mother, and pray that they would.
Reggie and I would talk about travel and cars. I'd ask to take his car for a ride the next time I was in Chicago. He'd surprise me and say yeah.
We'd watch movies and fall asleep early.
In this alternate universe, I'd sleep on the couch to solidify my respect for her dad and their home. Of course, as soon as I was certain they were asleep, I'd sneak up to her room and find her in the hall sneaking down to me.
We'd kiss in the light of a snowman nightlight and the twinkle of their Christmas tree. She'd walk me back down to the basement and we'd try our damnedest at being quiet. And we'd fail.
She'd go back upstairs after telling me that that Christmas had been her favorite.
These were the kinds of perverted thoughts I had. Not just ones of her spread eagle and touching herself for me, like I asked her to do on the phone that night before the Christmas Eve that wasn't our first.
She'd do everything I’d asked.
She'd push a finger into herself under my direction and I'd watch her beautiful hip raise to meet it. The look in her eyes begging me to do it myself.
Okay. Maybe I thought about that shit, too.
I guess that's how those dirty phone calls starte
d.
That's right. It was usually me starting the explicit dialog. Just like that night.
After she'd told me she was, in fact, touching herself, I gave her things to do that I was positive she liked. I told her exactly how to do them and listened to her breathing. We both knew she wasn't the best at the dialog part. She said, “Keep talking to me. I'm so close.”
Listening to her labored inhales and exhales, I stroked myself and told her all of the ways I wished my hands were taking care of her.
When she'd said, “Ahhh, yes,” I knew she was finding her release and mine was on the way. My eyes shut tight and I pulled a long breath, through my teeth, as my hand squeezed my cock. The sensation of cool air over my teeth sent a shiver down my spine and propelled my orgasm into present tense.
“Did you just come?” She lightly laughed on the other end, having listened to my release as hers subsided.
“Yeah,” I laughed, too. “Is there a problem with that?”
“No. I'm surprised, is all. I didn't really say much.” Her tone was half shy, half sorry.
“It doesn't take much, honeybee.” I laughed. “You did plenty. Trust me.”
We talked a little longer than normal. Neither of us had to work the next day, but we'd be spending time with our families for the next few days and wouldn't have many opportunities to connect.
“Okay, I'm falling asleep,” she growled through another yawn. Even over the phone, hearing her yawn made me do the same.
“Good night. I'll talk to you soon. Okay?” My eyes were heavy, too.
“I wish things were different,” she said. I heard the sleepiness in her voice and wondered if she was completely lucid, or if she was half-way awake and half-way asleep.
Did she want me to offer her an alternative? Was that what she wanted? Did she still see me as the fuck-and-run guy, only worthy a good time in bed? I wanted more with her, but did she want more from me? Maybe she didn’t think I was capable of that?
What the fuck was she thinking when she said she wishes things were different?
I should have asked her which things, but I didn’t.
“I do, too. Let's work on that.”
“I'm going to marry him and—” she whispered and then her voice trailed off.