by Karen Ferry
Here we go.
“A guy moved in next door,” I blurt out. Before my courage abandons me, I continue on a rush, “and he’s actually the nephew of my boss, Mr. Andersen.” She nods, still looking at me in that way of hers. “Well, I met him yesterday, found out that he’s my new neighbour today, and he wants me to tutor him, and I really don’t want to, but, at the same time, I do, because he’s really gorgeous, and I fancy him.” After that fantastic case of word vomit, I take a big breath, and soldier on. “AND it turns out that my brother will be visiting soon, and you know I’m not that keen on seeing him, but Steven, being the way that he is, won’t let me off the hook, and then, a few hours ago, my brain -- if I’m even allowed to call it that -- popped up with this crazy idea: I need a fake boyfriend. To conclude said mad idea, I just asked Daniel, my gorgeous, geeky, new neighbour, to play that part! And he agreed!” I don’t feel right about blurting out Daniel’s secret, so I hold my tongue about that part. “And . . . this is bad. I mean, really, really bad!” On a deep sigh, I close my eyes, and hang my head.
A couple of beat pass and I keep waiting for Camilla to say anything to my peculiar tale. But she doesn’t comment at all. Finally, I get tired of the silence and I lift my head again, open my eyes, and squint. What I see is definitely not what I thought I would, because she is no longer standing in front of me.
I turn my head left, then right, and almost fall off my chair when I see her right next to me, way into my personal space.
“Holy crap, Camilla!” I shriek, patting my galloping heart. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
Camilla ignores me and simply moves even closer. Alright, don’t come closer. This is freaking me out.
“Will you please say something?” I sputter, but she ignores me and stares into my eyes. I suddenly realise that I can’t look away even though I want to. Camilla keeps looking intently into my eyes for another thirty seconds -- yes, I counted them -- until she beams brightly and gives me a hug.
Whoa! What the hell is happening?!
The hug is over almost before it began, though, and as Camilla walks away from me and gets back behind the bar, she says, “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.” She picks up another glass and a dishcloth and gets on with her routine.
I’m gobsmacked. I feel as if I’m in a movie. Or am I being punk’d? I take a quick look over my left shoulder, but when I don’t find a camera crew behind me, I look back at Camilla. She may be busy with the task at hand, but I can’t help but notice the mysterious, secretive smile on her face.
“Fine?!” I ask her. “That’s it?”
She nods. “That’s it.”
“Don’t you think I should be admitted to a mental institution because of my stupid brain and my stupid ideas?” I sit up straighter and cross my arms across my chest, a bit defensive even though I really shouldn’t be.
Camilla chuckles. “Of course not, Emma. You’re not crazy, far from it. The same can’t exactly be said about George, though,” she muses and looks affectionately at her husband. I look closely at him: he’s standing with a couple of customers, a man and a woman, and they look a bit frightened, actually. I can’t say I blame them: he’s making some rather wild gesticulations, and you can tell, from looking at his red cheeks, that he feels very passionately about whatever it is they are talking about.
I shake my head a bit and look back at Camilla, frowning. “You can’t seriously mean that. Come on, I must be crazy. Just a tiny bit?” I raise my hand and make the universal sign of crazy: twirling my index finger around next to my ear.
Camilla huffs and puts down the glass rather forcefully and says, “Stop being silly. You’re not mad. You’re entirely normal.” At that, I snort, but Camilla ignores it and continues, “The only way you would ever be considered crazy was if you had a bad feeling about Daniel but still agreed to tutor him. You don’t get a creepy vibe, do you?”
I quickly shake my head. “Definitely not,” I reassure her. Not a creepy vibe . . . something far more pleasurable comes to mind whenever I’m near him.
I choose to not voice my inner monologue and say to Camilla, “I’m just . . . well, I’ve never been in a romantic relationship, so I guess I’m rather surprised at myself for even suggesting it to Daniel. Oh, and another thing,” I suddenly remember, “he’s such a geek! I mean, he has the most awful pair of glasses, he wears slacks, button-down shirts and loafers, for crying out loud!” A giggle escapes me, but I try to suppress it.
For once, it seems that I have caught Camilla by surprise. “How old is this Daniel?” she asks me.
“Just a year older than me, so 24,” I tell her, almost certain I know where she’s headed with this. She opens her mouth to speak, so I beat her to it, “I know, he needs to get a completely new wardrobe if he’s to impersonate being my boyfriend. I think he gets his fashion sense from his uncle, actually.” As the last line leaves my lips, I frown and I make a mental note of mentioning it to Daniel. I’d never go out with such a preppy type of man. No, I’m usually into the whole “bad-boy-guaranteed-to-make-you-come-within-five-minutes-tops” type. Having perfected the art of ignoring unpleasant thoughts -- or simply thoughts I don’t want to scrutinise too much -- I don’t exactly wish to ponder the fact that I seem to fancy a bloke so far from being the usual kind that catches my attention, yet here I am, doing just that.
“Oh,” Camilla says, pulling me away from my own head. “Well, that’s not so bad, is it?”
“Not really, no,” I grudgingly admit, and we fall silent for a while. I sip the coke from time to time, soothing my parched throat. Suddenly, I remember that I have completely forgotten to email Nan even though I promised to do that, and I spring up from my seat.
Camilla looks at me questioningly.
“I’m so sorry, I forgot that I owe my grandmother an email.” I rummage around in my clutch, looking for my purse.
“The drink’s on the house,” Camilla says as I try to hand her some money. “But only today,” she says, and I can’t help but smile.
“For a minute there, I thought your good business sense had abandoned you,” I tease her, and she smiles.
“Never.” She turns to George who has snuck up behind her. “What were you raving about this time?” she asks him, and my curiosity is piqued.
He puts an arm around her waist and sighs dramatically. “The youth of today has not one tiny bit of romantic bones in them,” he mutters.
Camilla pats his cheek and smiles fondly at him. “I think you need to elaborate on that a bit,” she says and winks at me.
“Well...I mean, is it really such a bad idea to elope? If you want to get married, why bother spending thousands of kroners on the wedding?! It’s only one day!” George turns his blue eyes to me, and I shrug, trying to let him know that I agree with him.
“Oh, how lovely, a wedding!” Camilla exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly.
“Err . . . maybe not quite yet,” George says. Camilla and I look at each other, and I can see the same confusion as mine mirrored in her eyes. At the same time, we turn back to George, and he starts to fidget and won’t meet our eyes.
“George . . . ” Camilla places a hand on her hip. It is impossible to overhear the warning in her voice. “What do you mean? Come on, out with it.”
George sighs, and then admits, “I may have failed to mention that this was their first date, but they looked to be so into each other that I found myself encouraging them to elope first chance they got.”
What?! That’s insane!
“George!” Camilla snaps and gives him a mild slap on his protruding belly. “That’s so incredibly rude! You should be ashamed of yourself, butting in on people’s conversations when they’re, quite clearly, not meant for your ears!” She sighs and looks at me. “Wouldn’t you agree, Emma?”
“Oh, absolutely,” I reply hastily, trying to hold in a laugh. I clear my throat and look at a rather bashful-looking George. “Well, I’m sure there’s no harm done.”
“Maybe not,” Camilla admits and picks up another glass to polish. “See, Emma? Definitely not crazy.” She winks at me again, and I chuckle.
“What?” George asks, and he looks at his wife with narrowed eyes and then turn them back to me. “What does crazy have to do with it?”
Taking this as my cue to leave, I quickly say, “Nothing, George.”
“Thanks for the drink, Camilla.” I smile at her in thanks and leave the pub.
I don’t feel anymore settled about the whole Daniel situation, but these strange people did manage to make me smile, and I suppose that’s something, at least.
Definitely witches.
Chapter 11
I have been thinking about Emma and her strange proposition all night. Ever since she left my flat, I’ve pondered whether or not I should text her and tell her that I can’t go through with it, at least a dozen times. But something stops me every time from actually doing it.
That girl is the weirdest person I have ever met. I don’t mean that in a bad way, no . . . but I can’t deny the fact that she is rather crazy. Or, well, like she said, eccentric.
All the while Emma was in my flat, I had to concentrate so much on not letting my dirty thoughts run away with me. I might be inexperienced, but I have a great imagination, polished through years of watching soft porn. I’m a guy, okay? We all do it, even shy ones like me. Emma is a beautiful woman so it’s only natural that I feel attracted to her. She’s all woman, not stick and bones, and the way her perfume teased my nose made my mind wander, thinking about her in all sorts of sexual ways.
I’m lying in my bed, staring out the window to the left of me and looking at the full moon; seeing as I’m not wearing my glasses, I can’t make it out that clearly, but the light is still comforting. Even though I feel bone tired, sleep seems to evade me. I’ve only been in the city for a few days, so the flat doesn’t feel like a home yet. I never could sleep the first night in a new place.
I move my head and glance at all the boxes lining most of the wall at the end of my bed. I guess I should get up and begin to sort through them, but I just can’t be bothered with it right now. Squinting at the clock on my phone, I sigh in irritation; it’s close to midnight, and I really ought to force myself to close my eyes and try to fall asleep.
Doing just that, but it doesn’t have the desired effect; as soon as my eyes are shut, a pair of blue-grey ones fills my mind. I remember the piercing in Emma’s eyebrow, the freckles on her nose, and, bit by bit, her entire face and body have formed, and I think back on her beautiful curves: her gorgeous, rosy full lips I want to trace with my tongue before dipping it inside her mouth to tangle with hers. Her rather large breasts I just want to lick, nibble, and kiss and spend a really long time on worshipping. Her small waist I want to hold on to. Her beautiful arse that seems to be begging for a man to squeeze it tightly. Before I’m even aware of it, I’ve moved my hand down my stomach and my fingertips are touching the base of my cock. As the fantasy of licking my way down her body takes over, I kick the sheets covering me away, pull up my knees, and I take a firm grip on my cock and begin to stroke it up and down slowly.
I imagine Emma’s fingers pulling my hair, her soft whimpers filling my ears, as my mouth teases her hip bone, and my fingers gently move down to caress her pussy.
“Fuck,” I mutter aloud, stroking my cock from base to tip, fantasizing that Emma’s hungry mouth and teeth are all over my body. Groaning and panting, I open my eyes to look down at my fully erected cock, and I begin to play with my balls, stroking them gently. My breaths come out in pants, and I can feel sweat form on my forehead.
Lying back, I close my eyes again, returning to my fantasy of Emma.
I imagine my hands grip her thighs before pulling them apart, and my mouth finally descends on her clit.
As I envision licking, sucking, and kissing her clit, I stroke my cock faster and faster. A familiar tingling begins to spread out from my spine, but I don’t want to come yet, and I force my hand to slow down a bit. Feeling the ache in my balls, I fondle them for some time before opening my eyes again to look at my cock; watching myself jack off is a major turn on for me. Seeing some pre-come on the tip, I quickly move my hand over my cock head, smearing it all over.
Shite, I’m not going to last much longer.
Imagining thrusting inside Emma’s pussy while she squirms beneath me, grabbing hold of my arms, digging her nails in, I take a firmer grip on my cock, and my calculated strokes become more frantic. All I can think about is what it would be like to hear her moan my name…to feel her lips on mine…to hear her whisper dirty things in my ears as I fuck her…to feel her pussy clamp down on my cock as she comes. Will she go wild if I pull on her lip ring with my teeth as I keep fucking her? That image alone almost makes me spill my load, and, groaning, I release the hold on my balls. Needing to come more than ever before, my left hand grips onto my sheets, and the tingling in my spine, the warmth in my body, intensifies until, finally, my cock jerks in my hand once…twice…three times, and come erupts from it, landing on my stomach. Instinctively, I loosen the tight hold on my cock, letting my hand fall listlessly to my side.
“Holy fuck . . . ,” I growl loudly and close my eyes as my body begins to come down from the high. Fuck, that was intense.
I lie still for a couple of minutes, catching my breath, until, finally, I sit up. I look down at my stomach and I can’t help but grin smugly.
That was just what I needed.
I hurry to the bathroom to clean up, and, as usual, I trip over my own feet on the way there. Why I can never walk on a flat surface without almost always falling flat on my arse goes beyond me. When I’m done, I hurry back to my bed and jump in. I lie down, pulling the sheet over me as I do.
With a content sigh, I close my eyes, and it doesn’t take long before I feel myself drifting off to sleep.
My alarm goes off and I hit snooze quickly.
Just five more minutes . . .
The ping alerting me to a text message, however, makes me open my eyes slightly, and my arm sneaks out from the warmth of the sheet covering me. I fumble around a bit, my hand searching for my glasses. As soon as I have found them and put them on, I pick up my phone from the floor, swipe the screen and see that the text is from Emma.
Damn, she’s up early, I think, yawning, and I look at her message:
Emma: You know, the walls in this building are really thin . . .
I frown, confused.
Me: What do you mean??? This is weird . . .
Emma: Let’s just say that I’m glad I won’t have to teach you everything . . .
What the . . . ? I bolt upright in bed as a feeling of dread fills my gut. Before I have the wits to form a reply, another ping alerts me of a new message. I’m almost too embarrassed to read it, but I think I have to man up, and so I take a look.
Emma: The next time you need to . . . err . . . relieve some tension? Go do it in the shower, okay? ;-)
That winky face at the end mocks me, and I can feel an embarrassing blush starting to rise on my neck. What the hell do I say back to her? This is really embarrassing. Ugh. I can’t make a joke of this, but I do have to answer her, I guess. I’m quite relieved that I didn’t shout out her name last night, though . . . now, that would be pretty difficult to talk myself out of. I don’t want her to think that I’m some kind of pervert just because I had her in mind when I jacked off.
Me: Will do. See you at work.
I throw the phone behind me on the bed and rake my hands through my hair, all the way to my nape, holding onto it tightly for a couple of seconds. I breathe deeply a few times before loosening my hold, and I decide to try to ignore the fact that Emma obviously heard me get myself off last night. There’s nothing I can do about it.
At the thought of my fantasy, I can’t help but smirk a bit, but it disappears when I feel my cock begin to stir again.
“Down, boy,” I mutter. “We need to behave ourselves around her, or I’m pretty sure she’l
l get pissed.”
I have a feeling Emma is quite the ball buster, but, even so, the person she appears to be has me very intrigued. I would be lying if I said I weren’t just a little bit curious about her, and the thought of seeing her again today cheers me up.
Finding out how she plans to shape me into pretending to be her boyfriend is bound to be interesting.
Sighing, I decide that I might as well get up now that I’m awake, and I stand up to stretch. It’s a good thing there isn’t a building on the opposite side of my window, only the park, because then sleeping naked would no longer be an option for me.
According to my parents, I didn’t speak any proper words until I was three years old. They couldn’t understand why, but it never worried them much. I suppose they thought it was only natural seeing as they had four other children all begging for attention, and the noise level in our house was quite high. There wasn’t room for me to be heard. Being the quiet child, however, proved to be rather difficult as I got older, and when I eventually started school and almost stopped talking altogether, that’s when my mum, in particular, began to notice how much I struggled. It would take a few years, though, before her worries were taken seriously.
The teachers made sure I was given many tests, and after some more practical sessions as well, they diagnosed me with dyslexia. Even though I was only 10 years old or so, I remember feeling relief that someone finally recognised the issues I had; being known as ‘the dumb kid’ or other such demeaning names isn’t fun for anyone, but especially not when you’re a young boy wanting to simply fit in . . . It didn’t matter that I taught myself to pay attention to how the words on the pages actually looked like, making my almost photographic memory more evident than it already was . . . no, I was still different in the eyes of the other children in class.