Grown Woman

by Jen Luerssen

  Grown Woman

  Copyright © 2017 Jen Luerssen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a piece of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Publisher: LuerssenPerson

  Authorjenluerssen@gmail.com

  Editing by:

  Love Infinity Proofreading

  Cover art and design by:

  Just Write. Creations

  Interior Design & Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting

  Contents

  Grown Woman

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Acknowledgements

  Jen’s other books

  To Andrew, my younger man.

  Prologue

  My eyes focus on a pot swinging from a rack attached to the ceiling. The ceiling and the rack are black. Who paints a ceiling black? Apparently, Tony does.

  “You’re soaked, Lia, you taste like heaven,” Tony says in between licking me during what I’d call a pretty mediocre oral session on his kitchen floor.

  “Mmhmm,” I respond, trying to encourage him into accidentally doing something better.

  The floor is a beautiful ceramic tile that looks like hardwood and feels like it too. I don’t know how I ended up here. Tony and I have been flirting and occasionally hooking up for about a month now. This is the first time I’ve been to his apartment and I’m surprised at how nice it is. He and I work together at the San Francisco Public Library (SFPL) and even though he makes more than I do as a full-fledged librarian, it can’t be enough to fund a place like this.

  When he started at the library, I was overjoyed. Finally, someone my age that I could talk to about books, music, pop culture, etc. Plus, he was actually in the hot category. You’d think the library would be a great place to meet people. In my fantasies, hot, hipster dudes utilize the library. In reality, creepy weirdos, kids, and super nice elderly people use the library. I can count on my hands the number of cute guys that have been through our doors. It’s a bit depressing what that says about our society. Tony was a breath of fresh air into our musty, dusty library.

  He and I had an instant rapport and easy, flirty banter. After he’d worked there for two weeks, I was shelving books in the storeroom when he came up behind me and put his hands on my hips. I knew it was him because I could smell the cinnamon gum he always chewed as he blew lightly on my neck. I leaned my head back and offered my neck to him. His hands moved from my hip to my lower abdomen as he lowered his lips to my exposed neck. I sighed and he released me and walked out. A drive by rile-up, that was. Since that day we’ve been flirting and fooling around here and there around the library. I know if we get caught it would be a disaster but hey, it makes it a bit more thrilling.

  Tony has increased pressure with his tongue but he is still missing the spot where I want him most and I think he’s still fucking chewing gum. He slides a finger inside me and this helps matters. I’m distracted by his apartment. It really is nice and I’m genuinely surprised at its ritziness. It costs an arm, leg and first born child to rent a modest apartment in San Francisco, but a place like this is serious money. Oh my sweet Jagger, does he live with his parents? Okay, I know I should be concentrating on Tony and his mouth and not real estate, but I am really distracted by this kitchen. We used the back stairs and ended up here first. He poured me a glass of wine. I took one sip and he took it out of my hand, kissed me dramatically, and knelt in front of me starting this lackluster (lickluster?) oral sesh. It all sounds technically hot, yet I feel like he’s trying a little too hard for the alpha moves when he’s mostly a beta. Not that I have anything against either. I’ll take whoever as long as they know where the gosh darned clitoris is.

  He swipes my clit with his tongue (accidentally, I fear), so I moan loudly so he’ll do it again.

  “You like my fingers inside you, Lia?” he asks in a serious tone.

  I nod and try to guide his head back to where I need him to be. He misses, not once, not twice but three times. His tongue goes close, almost there, and then no. I’m just about to interrupt him when I hear a door open and hear the clack of heels on the tile.

  “Oh, Tony! I didn’t know you were already here,” a female voice exclaims.

  I angle my head back and see a woman, about 30, dressed in a suit like she’s just arrived home from work. Mortified, I try to squirm away from Tony but he places his hand on my abdomen to still me and then finally, FINALLY, drags his flat tongue over my clit. The woman does not look angry. She does not look surprised.

  “We just got here and I couldn’t wait to eat,” Tony says in a way he thinks is sexy, but it’s not, especially since he cracks his gum, ew.

  She clicks her tongue. “Don’t get too full on the appetizer, sweet cheeks, and remember, no fucking.” She wags her finger at him playfully as I stare perplexed as to what the heck is going on.

  Tony laughs, licks again, where I’ve been trying to direct him for the past five minutes and says, “Of course, my pet, see you upstairs?”

  She nods and walks out.

  I get up, my elbows digging into the hard flooring. “Um, who the hell is that?”

  He gives me a weird look. “My wife,” he says like I should already know this. “Oh hold on, Lia, I got my g . . .”

  I finally am able to sit up and wiggle away from him and he lets me. I smooth down my skirt to cover myself and try to be calm. “Your wife?”

  “Lia,” he says in a pitiful voice.

  “No,” I say, grabbing my panties from the floor, and standing in what I’m proud to say is a pretty smooth move. “No, how could you? You’re married? You never talk about her, you don’t wear a ring.” I don’t know who I’m trying to convince.

  He gives me a sorry look and from his kneeling position, hops up to face me. “Lia, we don’t really talk, do we? I don’t wear a ring because we don’t believe in ownership, and I’m sorry but I thought you knew. The library is a cesspool of gossips and I assumed you’d heard about me, or at least asked around.”


  I hold up my hands to stop him, “Okay, I’m not sure what is happening right now, but why was your wife not pissed?”

  “Oh, well we have an open relationship and we also like to explore our sexuality with others, together. Is that something you’d be interested in? April is waiting upstairs and I’m sure she’s anticipating you coming up with me. The look on your face now tells me that’s a slim chance.” He rubs his hand on his chin.

  “You are right. I am sorry. I have to go.” I stumble back, grab my purse that I’d dropped on the floor and make my way to the stairs.

  He nods. “I understand and am sorry I wasn’t clearer with you. Are you sure you don’t want me to finish you off?” He nods to my crotch and licks his lip and now he’s lost me completely.

  I turn and run down the stairs, shouting back, “No thanks, it would take too long.”

  Once I’m through the door and back out onto the main sidewalk, I notice I’m still clutching my underwear and I laugh. Like, bust a gut, bend over, laugh, that eventually will turn into a hysterical sob fest. Knowing this is where I’m headed, I squelch it, grab my phone, call a Lyft, and head home. When I get there, I find a wad of cinnamon gum stuck in my pubes. The sobbing will have to wait as I head to my waxer for an emergency appointment.

  Rock Butt

  When you hit rock bottom, sometimes you don’t realize it. Sometimes rock bottom is a gradual piling of rocks that sneaks up on you and all of the sudden you’re there. Now, I’m not saying my life is a complete disaster, despite the gum in the cooter. I have friends, family and enough money to support myself.

  I’m talking when your soul hits a point where you’re starving it and your whole being suffers. I can point to the Tony incident a few months ago as a bellwether. I love men. I love sex. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s the string of sex that’s been lacking in connection, intimacy, and just fucking being able to have a conversation with someone without dissecting every word. Today, as I watched one of the best people I know get their degree, is another low point. Ugh, I know, I’m a whiny wanker.

  I need to do something to jumpstart me, so I can catapult from the rocky surface I find myself on. Sitting here in the cold June fog at Jane’s graduation feels like a turning point. I can’t put up with this shit from myself anymore. For years, I’ve been telling myself that I’m going to do great things. Play music for a living (still trying but mostly earning free drinks), get my masters in library science and then open my own alternative library (hey it’s San Francisco), or open a co-op music and bookstore (I’ve been told this is a horrible idea).

  They call Jane’s name and the whole row stands to give her a standing ovation. Yes, the whole row. I’m surrounded by Jane’s fan club. Her number one fan is Niall, her husband and the father of her coming-any-minute-now baby. Her mom and brother are here as well as her best friend, TJ and his wife, (also Niall’s sister) Janette-who we found out today is about three months pregnant. Niall’s other sister and her wife Kayla are here as well and his sister Shannon is also preggers. My other roommate/bestie Paul is here sitting next to me holding my hand. Yep, I’m surrounded by happy, married, pregnant people. Their lives are flourishing. Jane is going to be a nurse. Niall also got his degree today and will probably get some amazing job producing music. He helped me record and mix my band’s EP and he’s extremely talented. So, yeah, all of my friends have their shit together and are doing all sorts of fun adulting.

  “Why the long face, Li Li?” Paul asks me as we walk to the train after the ceremony.

  “Just pondering,” I say with a bit of melancholy.

  He sighs, putting his arm around me. “What’s to ponder, Lima Bean? It’s a beautiful June day in San Francisco and the world is at our feet.” He gestures his arm wide to the heavy fog sitting all around the SF State campus. “Plus you got the gum off your peach and have a clean beave.”

  I laugh and lean into him. Paul is a really good friend. He and I have been roomies and BFFs for years and we get each other’s moods. “You make good points, Paw Paw. I guess I’m just feeling left behind.”

  “Left behind?” he asks as we take a seat to wait for the train. “You’re the leader of this group. One who has all the answers at the circulation desk.”

  I stop and look at him seriously. “Is that what you really think of me? That I have my shit together and am a leader?”

  He shrugs, “Well, more than any of us. Sure, your sense of humor is that of a twelve-year-old and you’re a total slut in a good way, but you have a good job, play music, and manage to look like you spent five hours in a salon every day.”

  “Oh shit, I never thought you guys thought that way about me, except for the slut part. That’s spot on, in a good way.” We laugh and fist bump. “My job sucks and I think my band is breaking up. Devon got a job as a session musician in L.A. and it’s impossible to find a good drummer in this town.”

  “Okay, all of that is fixable. Why does your job suck? I thought you love being a librarian?”

  “Well, that’s it, I’m not technically a librarian. I’m an assistant.” The train arrives and we get on to ride to Jane and Niall’s for the party. I’m hoping there’ll be a lot of tequila. “I love my band, but we’re not really going anywhere, ya know? We play regularly and it’s fun, but it’s felt like work instead of fun lately.”

  “Well, as your biggest fan, I’d be devastated if I couldn’t come see you sing your heart out.”

  “Oh, I’ll always still sing and play music. I think I’m just feeling sorry for myself because I need a change, and maybe because I haven’t had sex since Tony the creepy swinger and he still propositions me weekly. I’m this close to accepting.”

  Paul inhales with mock surprise. “You mean you’re considering getting it on with gum boy and his open marriage? Oh Leaping Lizard, have I taught you nothing? You need to hook up with some slab of beef who’s cute and dumb and just know how to rut at you until you can angle yourself into an orgasm.” He dismisses the whole notion with a wave of his hand.

  “I just can’t stop thinking about walking out of that kitchen with my panties in my hand, halfway worked up, with fucking gum stuck to my twat. It was the ultimate walk of shame.” I shiver at the memory. My waxer, Jodi, was thrilled to give me a Brazilian because she’s a pubes hater. She’s pissed at me now though because I went back to the trimmed triangle like nature intended.

  We always cling to the shameful mistakes, why do we do that to ourselves? “Here’s that day, that rocky bottom I plunged myself to.” I put my hand out flat. “Then here’s today, me not over it but under it. Under the rocks is a murky sand and that’s where I dwell.” I move my hand lower and wiggle my fingers.

  “I get it. You are a flounder, floundering in the silt. Love the imagery but I think we need to just focus on the free tacos and tequila we will be consuming today in celebration of our dear friends,” he says, lacing his fingers through mine. “Then, tomorrow is a new day, and you and I will sit on our lumpy couch, make a list and try to figure what you really want next. Okay?”

  I nod, knowing he’s right. I need to shake it off for Jane and just enjoy myself today. “Okay, tomorrow is the day I rise from the depths and start swimming to the surface!” I say dramatically.

  “Yes, Ariel, we will get you where the people are and the cinnamon gum isn’t.” He and I laugh. Even though we hate her, we watch The Little Mermaid all the time. I mean, c’mon, she gives up her voice for a dude she’s never met. I’m pretty sure that’s the least feminist movie in history. Oh well, it’s just so good though. The rest of our train ride is spent singing about being under the sea and kissing the girl.

  Jane and Niall’s apartment is small but welcoming and it’s a lovely party. Paul and I eat and drink our weight in tacos and tequila and barely make it home in a cab. Our driver was yelling at us the whole way because we were so loud and obnoxious. We both drink water and take some ibuprofen before bed and I think I hear him snoring before I even get my dress off. />
  “Hey, Lederhosen, get up my little fraulein.” I hear Paul and he’s speaking in a German accent. This is disturbing and funny, disturbing because I am not ready to get up and funny, because well, accents and nicknames are our “thing,” and we’re fucking funny.

  I crack an eye open and see Paul hovering over me wearing his monocle. Oh so we’re a Nazi from Raider’s of the Lost Ark? Weird, but I’ll go with it. “What the schnitzel is happening right now?” I’m hung the fuck over.

  “The schnitzel is about to hitzel the fanzel, Liebchen.” He sits on the bed next to me and I smell something good. “I made you German pancakes and coffee. You’re going to eat them and then you and I are having our ‘come to Beyoncé’ talk.” He pokes me and leaves the room.

  I sit up and find I’m not feeling too horrid. There’s a plate and coffee mug sitting on my bedside table and I love Paul. He is an amazing cook and a really good friend. He’s had some tough shit to wade through with his family since they are Mormon and he is gay. He has his friends in his corner though and we are fuck ups in a lot of ways but not at supporting each other—probably should stop meddling in each other’s business really. Ha, ha, ha! Anyway, I eat all of the pancakes and drink half of the coffee. I get up, throw on black leggings with jazz instruments printed on them and an over-sized shirt with Nina Simone’s face on it, and head into the living room.

  Paul is sitting on the couch, a little too chipper, and pats the seat next to him. “C’mon Barbie, let’s party.” He’s holding a marker in his hand and I see the white board we used for planning TJ’s proposal up with “brain-monsooning” written across the top.

  “You are such a weirdo. Thanks for the pancakes and brain-monsooning is not a thing,” I say as I saunter over and plop myself down.

  “Limberger, it so is a thing. We are going to get you all sorted with adult stuff so we can get on to the good parts.” He says in a teacherly tone.

  “Are the good parts men with magical orgasm-inducing penises? I’m all about those parts,” I say, pressing my palms together.