by Joyner, GP
“Oh she just wanted an update on some files that I had to send,” she said.
“Oh my God, not about your colleague idiot, about him,” she demanded. She had been chewing her nails while Clare was gone. A habit she had tried to get rid of a million times but she couldn’t. Trisha White was a stunning woman, her best friend for almost a decade. They had grown up together in the same neighborhood, with the same friends. They went to the same high school, college and even university. At around 5’6 she was a glamorous red head, who could put guys to their knees just by a shake of her ass or the jiggle of her breasts. Round perky mounds that made teenage boys from 13 to men at fifty salivate at the sight of her. Notorious for dressing in skimpy clothes, Trisha White was thirty five, mother of two and a divorcee, her ex husband had cheated on her with her sister and she had kicked them both out, naked, after taking some pictures. Currently she was battling for custody of her kids and winning almost more than half of what her husband thought she would get.
She was a strong minded, collected woman, older than Clare and perhaps the smartest woman she had come around in her life. She knew her way around men and she owned a successful business which consisted of interior designing. Apart from earning her own money, she was now the owner of a couple of estates, thanks to her cheating husband.
She had two sons, John and Smith, both adorable, both amazingly smart and both twins. They were ten years old, and they were on their mother’s side, much to their fathers disliking.
“I prepared myself to go and meet him and I found him on the phone with one of his flings.” Clare tried to hide the tears from her eyes.
“What?”
“I’m not dating him or seeing him again. I guess I don’t have luck with men.”
“Why don’t you beat him to his game?”
“What do you mean?” Clare asked curiously.
“Make him fall in love with you and then throw him to the curb.” Trisha smiled.
“I can’t do that, he dates beautiful women and I was stupid to think he will ever fall for me.”
“Try and do things differently, find out what these models do and do the opposite. Introduce him to a new world that he’s not used to.” She realized Trisha had a point but it was risky. It was the perfect revenge but dangerous. She was ready to take the risk.
“Uh huh, so what shall we eat?” Trisha asked as she pondered over the menu. There is something you should know about her. No matter how much she eats, what she eats, she doesn’t put on an extra pound. This has been the case with her for almost all her life and I hate her for that.
“I am going to order some meat,” Clare said.
“I am going to order some carbohydrates,” she notified her smugly.
“I hate your body,” Clare said vehemently.
“Oh honey, if you were a guy, you would want to tear me apart,” she said arrogantly.
“You arrogant bitch,” Clare said laughing.
“I am confident in all of this,” she said shrugging and then snapping her fingers.
Clare almost fell off her chair laughing. They ordered lunch and quickly finished it, since they had both skipped breakfast.
“I thought we should go shopping,” she notified her as they made their way out of the restaurant.
“Well, you are smart because I haven’t been out shopping in over two months,” she sounded exhausted.
“Well what’s wrong?” Clare asked stopping to throw a piece of tissue in the bin.
They climbed the escalator to the second floor of the mall they were in. Clare had to buy a few dresses and suits, Trisha would probably buy lingerie or clothes for her kids. They were growing up and fast. They smiled as they left the restaurant.
THE END
Stripped Bear
Paranormal Romance
By: G.P. Joyner
WARNING: This ebook contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language. It may be considered offensive to some readers. This ebook is for sale to adults ONLY
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Copyright 2015 by G.P. Joyner - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
A not so lonely woman.
Since I was a little girl, I have spent a lot of time alone. My parents died when I was young, probably about five years old, though my memory is hazy. Most children are able to recall events from their early childhood; some can even read and write as early as four. I imagine that in comparison, my development looks somewhat retarded. Does that make me a freak? Possibly, but if an absent memory in my youth makes me 'unique', it still has nothing on the defining characteristics of my teenage years.
My grandmother's name was Rose. I was told my parents died in a car accident, though the details of the event have never been discovered. With my parents gone, Rose raised me. She always told me that we were a cursed family, though I thought she was a superstitious old woman, and I didn't take her seriously. Occasionally, I thought that the curse may have had something to do with my lapses in early memories, but the truth of the curse was much worse than anything I could have imagined.
I had a good childhood. My health and positive attitude were assets that helped me cope with being socially awkward. School was fun for me, and I was able to learn quickly. I missed having regular parents, like the other kids, but having never met them, I'm not sure that it is possible to miss something you never knew. I did miss having a male role model in my life, which I'm sure contributed to my endless pursuit of the opposite sex. I wasn’t exactly popular with the girls in school, but I loved running around with the boys; I would play with them whenever I got a chance. Males became a huge focal point for my life. Later in school, I discovered a custodian's closet that joined the men's and women's gym rooms. I knew that spying on naked boys makes me somewhat of a pervert, but their bodies were always so fascinating to me. The fantasies of my youth were exclusively about what a male and myself might do, if we were alone, naked, and in an empty room. Of course, I was too shy to do anything about these thoughts at that time, but I was hooked for life.
My first opportunity to explore my sexuality came a few years later. I had already left high school, and met a guy named Dean at our local community college. Dean transferred from another state, due to his career interests. He had already lived in ten different states, as his parents moved him around a lot during his youth. Dean seemed like the type of guy who would regularly travel overseas. He probably had already seen more of the world than I ever would, and I was certain that he had already been with countless girls.
Dean seemed confident about interacting with women, while I was still incredibly shy about expressing myself sexually. He was kind, and spontaneous. When he approached me one day to ask me out to the movies, I was stunned. For a few moments, I couldn't even speak. I was eighteen years old, and had only kissed one guy in my entire life. I was unexperienced with kissing, and I have always had a strong problem with body hair. When other girls were asked out in high school, I just watched from the sides. I had a strong and athletic body, but my self-image was terrible. In my mind, I looked wild, and unkempt, no matter how I might try to tame my appearance; I blamed my loneliness on my genetics. I had no idea that the problem ran so much deeper than social conformity.
When I agreed to go on a date with Dean, I decided it was time for a complete body wax. I was terrified of being judged, or worse yet, rejected. I didn’t want him to think that I was an animal, or a girl who didn't care about her looks. Even though I was on the sidelines of high school relationships, I could see that guys like a girl who can take care of herself. The wax was terrible. The eyebrow threading w
as painful, and afterward, my entire body was red with protest. The following night, the redness was gone, and I was ready for my date with Dean. For all of the pain that I went through the previous day, I would do it again in a heartbeat. Let's just say that Dean paid much more attention to me, than to the movie, and his fingers touched places that had only ever been stimulated by my own hand. We parted ways that night, and I fell asleep absolutely smitten.
The next morning, I woke up amazed. My skin was soft to the touch, more smooth even than after I had left the waxing salon. My grandmother saw the joy radiating from my face, and promptly confronted me about my date with Dean.
“I saw that you were out late last night, Sara," she commented, in a knowing way. "Any particular reason you're in such a good mood?" she asked with a twisted smile on her face.
“Nothing special," I lied. "I went to the movies with a new friend named Dean. He is new in school. I mentioned him before, didn't I?"
I hoped my answer would distract her from her earlier observation, but my grandma is a sly one.
“Keep this friend of yours as close as you can,” she replied.
My grandmother smiled at me, blinking one single eye, as a girl my own age might do. As I left the house for the day, I reflected on our supposed family 'curse' and the energy of my grandma; when I'm eighty-four years old, I hope I'm as vivacious as her.
Following my grandmother's advice, I worked as hard as possible to maintain the health of my relationship with Dean. Our friendship was idealistic, and carefree. We were young, had nothing to lose, and we both had time to devote to one another. Free time usually translated into exchanging physical explorations using our hands, mouths, and tongues. During that period of time, I recall making out with Dean multiple times, every day. Even when I was alone at home, I could recall the taste of his dick in my mouth; I only had to close my eyes and focus on the memories from the previous day.
Through some miracle beyond my understanding, the abnormal rate of my body's hair subsided. I thought maybe the waxing pulled all of my hair out by the roots, because body hair simply wasn't a thing any more; it stopped growing all-together. One day, Dean's parents decided to pay for a ticket to the Bahamas. A ticket for Dean meant that I got to stay home and touch my vagina, all by myself. I was not enthusiastic about the experience, but I wanted to be supportive. I kissed him goodbye, and pulled his hand down toward my crotch. I wanted him to remember my smell, and I was more than a little concerned about him picking up on some island girl. All of two days passed in Dean's absence, when my body hair began to grow again. I was crestfallen.
I got out of bed, and drudged myself down the stairs, and into the kitchen. All of the insecurities of youth were welling up inside of me, along with a very new form of depression. My grandmother noticed my disposition immediately. She came over beside me and offered a warm hug.
"Are you upset because your hair is growing again?" she asked, with a concerned expression on her face.
"How did you guess?" I replied.
I was surprised, because I never really shared my body insecurities with her, but I suppose I should have known better. Family has a way of knowing when a problem arises, without necessarily needing to use words.
"I know more than most of the people in your life will ever know," she whispered, mysteriously.
"Grandma," I replied, with a slightly exasperated tone, "your body hair is almost nonexistent."
“Now," she replied. "but I was not always like this. Do you remember the curse I always told you about?” she asked me with a serious tone to her voice.
“Of course," I replied earnestly, and a bit confused. "What does it have to do with it?”
“It's time you gained some understanding about where your family comes from,” she said, while leaning back in an easy chair.
Her attitude informed me that this conversation would take a while, but her tone was grave, and resolute. I knew that whatever she had to say, would require my full attention. I was curious how my families curse related to this seemingly superficial problem of body hair, and Dean wouldn't be back for another two weeks.
“It is a long story," my grandma warned, "Do you have time?”
I sat down with my legs crossed on the floor, and my head raised in attention; this was going to be good.
"Let´s start from the beginning," she announced after organizing her thoughts. "When did your hair start to grow so densely?”
Her question was serious, and she looked at me over her glasses like a psychologist might examine a patient.
“I guess it was when I got my first period,” I replied.
I tried to recall an exact time, but it wasn't so much that the hair started to grow, as much as it grew increasingly thicker, and more coarse.
“Exactly," she responded with enthusiasm. "So, what does that mean?”
I started to feel like I was in biology class, but I responded anyway.
“Well," I began, "There was bleeding, cramps, and bloating."
I remember wanting so badly to be a boy, but I didn't tell my grandma about the psychological difficulties of puberty; the physical inconveniences were a good enough start.
“Besides that!" she replied, her frustration showing. "Why do we bleed? What is the purpose behind menstruation?”
“Well, one day I´ll want to have children,” I replied, as though stating the obvious. "I thought we were going to focus on the hair, Grandma. I already know about how to make babies."
“Precisely!" she erupted. "And do you think all that hair is going to help you land a mate?"
My grandmother had never been so brash toward me; the feeling was not pleasant.
“Grandma!" I cried, "Why are you being mean to me?”
I was angry, and I didn't understand why she would be so abrasive about such a sensitive subject. She was supposed to help me, not attack my insecurities.
“I am not being cruel," she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "I just want you to understand the origin of our family's curse. A long time ago, the women in our family were famous for our beautiful golden curls, but we were very arrogant. One day a sorceress in our village decided that she would be the agent of justice. She felt that our family had to learn to respect other people. She wanted to teach us that beauty always comes with a price.”
My grandmother spoke in an incredibly formal way, as though she were giving a lecture, or an informational report.
“The price of being hairy?” I asked in disbelief.
"Oh dear," she responded. "I wish it was only that. You see, this sorceress was deeply connected with nature, and she knew everything about fertility. The spell she cast on us has everything to do with our femininity."
"Ever since my hair has grown thicker, I feel so manly," I replied with attitude and a bit of disappointment. "I don't understand what that has to do with being a woman."
“Precisely," she nodded in affirmation. "Your hair is going to make it more difficult for you to find a mate, correct?”
“It feels that way," I replied, already tired of our conversation.
“My little one," she began, her voice growing more serious by the moment. "The hair it is only the first step. I don’t mean to scare you, but you need to be ready for changes to come.”
“I don't understand," I responded. "I'm already more hairy than most men. What could be worse?”
My cheeks were red, and I was crying. I wanted to be stronger, and I felt like I was making a big deal out of a small thing, but the thought of perpetual waxing sounded just as painful as looking like some kind of unkept animal.
"Things can be much worse, my dear. Most of life's difficulties will be confronted by you in time,” she answered. "Unfortunately, due to our history, your difficulties will be more intense than most, but there is still hope."
She did not seem touched by my tears, and spoke to me as if she her heart were empty of all emotions.
“I don't understand why my hair stopped growing after my first wax, and now, i
t is growing again after the second,” I stated, trying to put the pieces of the conversation together.
"My child!" my grandmother reprimanded me, "The wax is not the point! Why did you use the wax in the first place?"
I knew that she was impatient. She didn't quite seem like the same grandmother I had grown up with all of these years.
"I just wanted to go to the movies with a guy," I replied, doing my best to suppress my sexual desires.
"Just a guy?" she replied, in a knowing fashion.
"Why do you care?" I shot back at her.
I was embarrassed at the attention she was giving me. I didn't want to share the information of my sex life with anyone; least of all my grandma.
"Did you two make out?" she asked. "Was it good for you?"
I got the distinct impression that my grandma was making fun of me.
"Yea, we kissed a little," I replied. "But I'm not sure I want to go into all of the details with you."
She was so sexual. It seemed to me that I didn't quite know everything there was to know about my grandma.
"Where do you think your mother came from?" she mocked me.
"Grandma!"
"Listen, child. I know you are getting to be the age where sexuality is a focus for you," she told me. "There's nothing wrong with that."
"Let's get real," my grandmother insisted. "When you kiss this person, do you feel arousal?"
Her intensity was startling, and she was holding onto my arm so tightly that it hurt.
"Of course I do," I replied. "Isn't that the point of being with a partner -- sharing the ability to feel good with one another?"
"He touched you, didn't he?" she raised an eyebrow in my direction.
"Yea," I replied, hesitantly. "I mean, we didn't..."
"Aha!" my grandmother exclaimed. "That is why your skin was so smooth. You were feeling lust. He's out of town now, am I correct?"