by Cee Smith
“1, 2, 3.”
He waved his hand in a flourish and their voices harmonized before breaking into a jaunty tune.
You’re invited to a luncheon, Blaire
He hopes you will say yes.
You’re invited to a luncheon, Blaire
Oh, won’t you be his guest.
You’re invited to a luncheon, Blaire
And he hopes you won’t say noooooo.
He swears that it’s just lunch, Blaire
Oh please, oh please just gooooo.
They ended with a jubilant waving of arms and smiles that were infectious in their enthusiasm. Whoever said smiles weren’t contagious had never had a singing telegram.
I stood inside my door dumbfounded by what I was seeing. Was I supposed to clap? I’d never been stumped at the proper etiquette of singing telegrams because I didn’t even know they still did singing telegrams. I smiled as three of the men stepped back and the stout man stepped forward.
“Thank you. I can’t say I’ve ever had anything like…this before.”
“You’d be surprised how many telegrams we do a week,” he said, pulling a paper from his pocket.
“Wow.”
“Please sign this as proof that we were here.” He handed over the paper before digging around in his pockets for something else.
“Oh, and I can’t forget this.”
I looked at the paper that he put forth and there, written in chicken scratch, was a scrap of paper I could have easily received while in grade school. Next to three large boxes were the words, “yes,” “no,” and “try harder.” I laughed as I looked over the words. Joel definitely had a way of brightening one’s day, I could say that much about him.
“It would seem a bit cruel to put ‘no,’ wouldn’t it?”
“Depends on what he’s apologizing for.”
“I take it most of these telegrams are for apologies?”
“That, and birthdays.”
He hesitated as I debated which box on the page to check. “My advice, if it really was ‘no,’ you wouldn’t have to ask for my input.”
I did as the man said, solely because he was right. I didn’t really want Joel to give up on me. I didn’t really know what I wanted. I knew what was right, and for the first time in a long time what I wanted and what was right were two opposing things.
The singer didn’t say anything as I marked the paper and handed it back to him, thanking him once again before he left to catch up with the rest of the group.
Walking back into the house, I thought about what to expect next. Joel was anything but normal when it came to getting what he wanted. I was starting to learn he wasn’t above using every means to get what he wanted. It was a bit disconcerting that he now had my cell phone number, but chose not to use it. Maybe he was scared I wouldn’t answer, or worse that I would answer just to tell him no, which would most likely happen if he continued to push too hard. No, I wasn’t meeting with him. I had already made up my mind. So why did it feel like even thinking that felt like a lie?
***
I hadn’t checked the mail since the postal service announced they were returning to their routes almost a week before. It wasn’t like I received a lot of mail anyway, but I had been too busy with work to bother unloading a box I assumed was filled to the brim with mailers. I unlocked the box and noticed a thick, padded manila envelope underneath everything else. I hadn’t ordered anything, and when I flipped the envelope over, there was no return address or any indication as to who sent it. Shuffling the rest of the mail underneath my arm, I used both hands to open the small package.
Just as I got to my front door, I pulled out the contents only to find a single CD without so much as a card or permanent marker signaling what it was.
All of the rest of the mail was thrown on my kitchen counter before I carried the blank CD to my office to see what was on it. I’d never had something so suspicious and ominous as a blank CD sent to my home—and addressed to me specifically, no less.
Once seated at my desk, I shoved the CD in and waited for my computer to load the contents. When the multimedia icon popped up on my screen, I clicked play noticing at the last minute that it was a video and not an audio file. Immediately, my screen filled with the image of a half-naked man. He wore jeans, no shoes, no shirt. His face couldn’t be seen based on the angle of the camera, but I knew that chest anywhere. His words verified my presumption.
“Mmm, pretty bird…I’ve been thinking about you,” Joel groaned and it was the sound of need amplified through my speakers that had me pressing pause quickly, as if I were in a crowded library and porn sounds blasted from my speakers. I clutched my chest to calm my racing heart. Is this what I think it is? If so, he’s pulling out all the stops. He’s making it so I’ll have no choice but to meet him—if only to cure the ache that’s blooming through my body with the tenor of those words. Words that were meant especially for me.
I moved through my house to retrieve my headphones bundled at the bottom of my purse. My house was empty and very rarely did I even receive the random solicitor, but it felt too revealing to watch this video and listen to the sexual hunger he possessed, with the remote chance that someone walking down the sidewalk could make out one word of what was meant for my ears and eyes only. There was something significant about Joel sending me this. It spoke of a trust I wasn’t even sure I deserved. Granted, his face wasn’t in the picture, but anyone who knew Joel would be able to say that was his voice. If not, they could probably recognize his body. He wasn’t tattooed and didn’t have any significant scars marring his perfect skin, but even in Vegas, it was hard to find a man who had a body as perfect as his. He could work at Chippendales or Thunder Down Under, and I’m sure he’d be their biggest moneymaker. Women would line up outside the door just to see him reveal even a small glimpse of his perfectly chiseled chest and commanding thighs.
The heat of excitement of being able to watch his body in action washed over me. I would have a front row seat to whatever awaited me once I was back in the office and pressed play. Having sex with Joel was its own experience. Yes, I watched his body as he moved in and out of me, but more so, I was focused on the pleasure he drew out of me. Now, I would be able to completely focus on the beauty of Joel’s movements.
I plugged my headphones in. The mouse hovered over the play button, waiting for me to click it. It wasn’t even a question whether I would press play or not, which was a sure sign that I absolutely shouldn’t have watched. However, I couldn’t control the sudden urge that overtook me. I needed to see Joel, needed to hear his voice. Even if I couldn’t see that cocky smile, I wanted to hear it in his words.
“You know what they say. If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad…then Muhammad must go to the mountain. That sounds like I’m calling you a mountain. You know what? Never mind.”
I chuckled lightly at his words, but choked on the next laugh that came. Joel, still standing, dropped his jeans and stood with his feet apart, drawing my eyes up to his very obvious erection, already thick and ruddy. In the light that painted the room, I could see every vein that curved down his length clear to his cock-head. His torso twisted away from the camera, and my eyes zeroed in on his piercing, prompting flashbacks of what it felt like between my fingers, on my tongue, and slipping through my folds.
He walked closer to where the camera was positioned. The camera jostled then zoomed in on the bed in the background. Was this Joel’s bed? It fit him perfectly. The headboard was made of large, thick pieces of wood that climbed so far up the wall I couldn’t see the top with the camera zoomed in. Heather-gray colored sheets matched the natural colors I’d captured glimpses of when I first popped the CD in.
He hopped on the bed with enough gusto to make the whole bed shake beneath his weight.
“Those thirty minutes at the Cosmopolitan got me thinking. You don’t remember much of that first night we met, but I do.”
He’s right. After too much tequila and not enough in my stom
ach to absorb all of the liquor that burned through my body, I was so drunk that my memory could only grasp bits and pieces of the night that united us in some weird last-people-on-Earth type of way. But what I could remember was enough to make even Kerri blush. His hands were warm and seemed to burn me wherever he touched—which was everywhere. His skin was soft despite his rigid muscles, but it was also the things he said and how he handled my body. His touch vacillated between soft caresses and a tough grip, making me feel like he was imprinting my soul with the touch of his hand, so I would never forget him.
“You were so responsive to my touch.”
He spread out on the bed, his face still out of frame, but the camera now directed from his lower chest down to his thick thighs and swollen shaft. Joel grabbed his dick with the same touch that I was familiar with. He handled my body with the same tenacity as he handled his own. He pumped and I watched in fascination at the thick erection that he stroked nice and slow, as if drawing it out to build up the pressure building in my core. I felt a flush descend over my body and wondered where his eyes were. The eyes I couldn’t see but remembered how they watched me. Were they imagining me now, waiting for the moment I would lose control and cave into my body’s need, or were they watching with rapt fascination at how his cock disappeared beneath his palm?
I licked my lips at the first sight of pre-come bubbling at the surface.
“Your pussy was so tight against my fingers. You don’t know how bad I wanted to fist you just to hear the moans that would escape those fucking lips. Ah, those lips…” He said “lips” like he was recalling the memory of my anatomy. His hand pumped faster, and I could hear his raspy breathing rush harder. I could no longer deny the effect seeing this man had over my body. I was a slave to the lust that overcame me. Unbuttoning my pants, I slid my fingers inside my panties, massaging the outside of my cleft.
“And, fuck, how wet you get. You could literally wring out the sheets, they were so drenched.”
His hips thrust up into his fisting hand. I moved my panties to the side to have direct access to my clit, hardened by the visual of Joel literally losing himself to the memory of me. More pre-come leaked, and I wondered how long of a video this was. I couldn’t imagine him being able to hold out much longer. I’d barely touched myself and already I could feel my insides coiling, readying for the flood of my release.
“But nothing felt as good as the first time I slid this cock into that slick cunt of yours. Do you remember now? How deep I went? You were literally gasping for breath. Begging me for mercy. Each time I rocked into you, you gasped. Are you gasping yet, Blaire?”
His words speared into me.
Honest and Primal.
Tempting.
I couldn’t see those green eyes of his, but I somehow felt them—peering into the deepest parts of me. Deeper than anyone had ever been. The words spoken weren’t meant to be sarcastic or cocky, but spoken by a man who had experience. Was I gasping yet? How could I not gasp? I was completely beholden to his every word, every move. I was transfixed by the rhythm of his movement, the lines of his body all working in conjunction with his pumping hand. For the first time, I became aware of the true magnitude of his beauty. Before, he was hot, fucking sexy, a mountain of a man filled with enough charm to talk even the most blushing of virgins into tossing aside their virginities like used condoms.
My chest was tight with every rush of breath that escaped my lips. Joel’s skin was flushed as he angled his legs toward the camera, showing me his full monty. Continuing to stroke himself, he moved his other hand to cup his balls, giving them a tug that made him moan louder.
“I wish I was there right now. You know what I’d do,” he groaned, pausing a moment to gather his breath before continuing, “I’d open up that pretty little pussy and I’d whisper things. Things only meant for your body to hear. Would you like that, Blaire? I’d be so close, you could feel my breath fanning across your cunt. I’d be able to see every little drop leaving your cunt and sliding down your ass onto the sheets below. Do you feel that need? I do. I’ve felt it since the first moment I watched you orgasm. I’d never seen something so sexy or so beautiful, Blaire.”
Joel was losing control. His fluid movements were more erratic, his chest climbed faster. He groaned long and low, like a sigh almost, except heavier. His hand clutched tighter and then he erupted. Long jets of come spilled over his hand and onto his stomach, his milky white essence shining brilliantly against his sun-kissed skin. He continued groaning and I rubbed harder, strumming my clit between my fingers until I felt a tingling sensation traverse my body, spiraling until it reached a point my body could no longer contain, at which point I orgasmed. Joel’s name fell from my lips—a quiet gasp that seemed amplified in the quiet of the room.
“Fuck, Blaire, look what you made me do.”
Joel’s laugh filled the room, and just as I thought he would get up to clean up or turn the camera off, he did neither. He sat up against the pillows, his face still out of shot and said, “Blaire, I’m sorry I should have told you the minute I knew. Please meet me. Please. We can meet wherever. Please don’t make me send you more videos. I will, but I’d much rather be making videos with you.”
“Huh, never going to happen,” I said aloud.
“I just want to get to know you. Don’t make me pull the ‘no living relatives’ card. I don’t want you feeling sorry for me, but if it’s all I can get out of you, I’ll take it. Please, Blaire.”
With that, he walked back to the edge of the room, where the camera was most likely propped up on some bookcase or dresser and turned off the camera. My screen faded to black before returning back to the ocean desktop image. I sat staring at my monitor while catching my breath and wondering what to do next. Although I didn’t mind getting another one of his videos, I couldn’t let him continue. If only for the simple fact that he was putting us both at risk the longer he continued these attempts to get me to meet him.
After I washed up, changed my clothes, and got settled in for the night with a bowl of popcorn and a glass of wine, I pulled out my phone, eager to just get it over with. I could have texted. Could have made things easier on myself by not actually speaking with him, but I wanted to hear his voice. I missed it, like I missed him, and the video was a poor substitute.
“It seems I finally got your attention,” Joel said in answering.
“You could say that. Although, that seemed kind of the point.”
“It was a hard one to make, but desperate times. You don’t make it easy on a guy, Blaire. I’ve never felt so…rejected before.”
“Well there’s a first for everything. Look, I’ll meet you, but that’s it. I’m not promising you anything.”
“Great. Where would you like to meet? We can go anywhere you want.”
“Have you ever been to that Mexican place off Charleston? You know the one by Smith’s?”
“No, but I know what you’re talking about.”
“Meet me there. Tomorrow at one. This is it, Joel. If for some reason you don’t show up—”
“I’ll be there. I promise. I’ll be there.”
“Goodnight, Joel.”
“Goodnight, Blaire.”
I may have watched the video once or twice more before I went to bed that night.
Chapter Seven
The same white Mercedes that was waiting outside my home over a week ago was now sitting in the parking lot of Ernesto’s. Ernesto’s was off the beaten path, a place not usually frequented by corporate workers with only an hour for lunch. Aside from us, only three other cars were parked just outside the restaurant. That didn’t stop me from inspecting the surrounding area. Not that I was going incognito or anything, but if anything felt off then I was definitely going to be skipping lunch.
My fingernails tapped against the steering wheel while I second-guessed again what I was actually doing meeting Joel—out in public, no less. Finally resolving to exit the vehicle, I got out and made my way to the entrance. Just in
side the door to the right was the hostess stand, with rows of tables and booths behind the woman who stood at the podium ready to seat me. A bar on the left hid a few high-top tables.
“How many?” the young woman asked. She looked barely old enough to be out of high school.
“Oh, I’m here meeting someone.”
I barely got the last word out before I felt him. Joel lingered there in the archway of the bar section. After motioning to Joel, the young woman put down the menu she’d gathered and smiled at me as I made my way over to the bar.
“I’m not drinking with you.”
“Is it because you can’t control yourself around me or because you have to get back to work?”
I passed him to sit at the table, where there were already two glasses of water resting. Joel’s hand found its way to my lower back, shocking me with the warmth his body always seemed to possess. This is just lunch. Joel guided me until we both took our seats, and I immediately took a sip from my glass, eager to shake off the few degrees my body temp climbed just at the sight of him.
He wasn’t going down without a fight. That much was obvious by his choice of clothing. When we had spent that week together and even in the pictures I’d seen of Joel, he always looked super casual, very comfortable—oftentimes wearing board shorts and a tank top. He looked like a California surfer boy, except buffer. But now, the man who sat in front of me was anything but surfer boy. This was CEO extraordinaire. This was Edward Trevaunt’s son. He looked every bit the multi-millionaire he was.
I busied my mouth, sucking back water like a warthog at a watering hole, all while drinking in the sight of the man in front of me. Joel wore a light blue and green striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, displaying those forearms that were almost as big as my calves. A quick glance at his watch told me he was wearing the price of my Honda on his wrist. And then I remembered his tan pants and the way they hugged his thighs and the quick glimpse of his ass I’d captured before he led me to our seat. How am I supposed to make it through this meal? Especially knowing what is under all of these clothes? I had watched that video at least ten times from the time I opened my mail that day to the weekend; I thought my computer would explode if I pressed play one more time.