“I’m sorry about earlier,” he says regretfully. “I’m sure you’ve heard of my famous meltdowns and tantrums before.” He looks away.
I lie. “No, I haven’t.”
He gives me a look of doubt before laughing. “Right.”
“I might have heard of few things.”
He rubs his chin thoughtfully and says, “Let’s get out of here?”
“Sure,” I answer with surprise.
I follow him out of the restaurant out onto the busy street. It’s a Thursday night, the ubiquitous party night of all colleges across The United States. King Street is full of young college kids full of booze and mirth. I’m not yet at the age where this kind of thing will annoy me. My older sister always rolls her eyes when there are too many college kids in an establishment. I guess something significant happens to you when you turn thirty making you intolerant to young twenty year olds.
“Proof?” he asks me.
“Cool,” I answer. The owner of Proof, Craig, is a great bartender and always has some imaginative tasty cocktails on and off the menu.
Before I know it, Winston pushes me up against the wall to the blow and dry salon a few doors down from the bar. His lips are on mine quickly and passionately. His tongue probes mine hungrily. His hands grope me up and down squeezing my breasts and my ass. I give into the kiss for a few more moments. I’m not used to passionate unscheduled kisses like this; I linger in his strong embrace for a few more minutes before I eventually push away from him.
“What the fuck?” I ask, trying to sound outraged.
He shakes his head and points at the air between us in a wagging motion. “Wait. Did I read this wrong?”
“Yes!” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Oh. Okay. Sorry.” He runs his hands through his hair and sighs deeply. He walks away towards the bar.
“Wait. What about the interview?” I ask still recovering from his kiss.
He calls over his shoulder, “If we’re not going to fuck, you are going to have to come back tomorrow.” I watch incredulously as he walks into the bar. What an asshole.
With Winston’s kiss still on my lips, I get home late. Greg is already in bed asleep. I climb into bed next to him. His warmth reaches me from side of the bed. I admit that Winston’s kiss and body up against mine excited me. It’s Thursday, not our designated day, but I make an attempt to get Greg in the mood.
I ease up next to him and kiss his neck while massaging his cock into attention. Greg awakes with a startling snort. “What are you doing, Lindsey? Are you crazy? It’s Thursday.” He picks my hand up off of his cock and flings it away.
“Sorry.”
I retreat to my side of the bed thinking about Winston again. He did look really hot. He is an amazing kisser. He even kisses on Thursdays. I fall asleep ruminating on his kiss and his hands all over me.
The next morning, I make crepes, a wonderful treat I was introduced to while interviewing a crepe shop in Chicago. I make Le Pare crepes with strawberries, bananas, chocolate, and Chantilly creams. Greg prefers a simple breakfast of a bagel and cream cheese. Thankfully, he is capable enough of making his breakfast himself. It gives me time to indulge myself and make a delicious breakfast for myself.
I stare at my beautiful crepe creation before I take a bite. It’s a gorgeous with bananas and strawberries spilling over each other and Chantilly cream melting on top. I snap a pic with my phone. I upload the pic to Instagram with a few hashtags: #crepes, #mybreakfast, #amateurchef, and I tag the restaurant that inspired me, @CafePamplemousse. I’ve never been one to upload pics of my food, but why not?
I leave for work way earlier than I usually do and before Greg wakes up to prevent any awkwardness this morning. I’d like to forget all about last night. I’m the first and only person in the office. Without much to do since Winston refused me an interview, I get the idea to start a blog.
I write about the crepes I made this morning. My blog post is more than just a recap of my meal and its preparation; I sway a little into what I’m feeling right now, which is unsettled and maybe a little unsatisfied. I don’t go into direct detail about Greg’s rejection or my attraction to Winston, but I do talk about how those sweet crepes early in the morning helped assuage the saltiness of my night. It was a vague spillage of my feelings, but it helped settle my nerves a bit nonetheless.
I read what I’ve written a third time before hitting publish. I think about Greg. Are we really getting married? Is that something I want? Do I want to be married to him? Do I want my entire life planned out by him? Greg is always brushing aside my work or any of my aspirations with the excuse that I don’t need to work in the future anyway. Is that what I want? I look at my blog post. He would think that writing this would be a total waste of time. He never sees the value in doing something for joy.
Most of all what bothers me is that Winston is the first guy I’ve kissed since being with Greg. I forgot how passionate and spur of the moment a physical act like that can be. Greg isn’t very affectionate. Could I see myself with someone who is so reserved for the rest of my life?
Speak of the devil, I get an Instagram notification from Greg. I open up the app to see what he has written. “Food pics? #lame.” I look at the comment trying not to be bothered by it, but I am. Things like this from Greg bother me, but every one always is telling me how lucky I am to be with him: a handsome, future doctor. It’s as if no one believes I can do any better, but is that even true? Can’t I do better than a guy who publicly makes fun of things I enjoy?
I arrive at Taste mid-afternoon hoping to find Winston in good spirits. A sous chef tells me he is up on the roof where they grow herbs. I find Winston shirtless doing burpees, jumping jacks and push ups. I’m hopelessly embarrassed to find him in this sweaty beautiful state. He sees me and holds up a finger while he continues with his HIIT workout. I can do nothing but take a seat and try not to stare at his sweaty glistening muscles.
When he finishes, he towels off and walks over to me. Strangely, he extends his hand to me and says, “Let’s start over.” I hesitate. What’s his angle? He must see the look of suspicion on my face. He says, “I talked to my therapist this morning. She said that the way I acted towards you was unprofessional and unfair. She helped me understand that I can’t treat people any way I’d like just because I’m having a bad day.”
“You see a therapist?”
Winston rubs the towel into his hair. “Ya. Had to. After, you know, the New York thing not working out.”
He pulls up a chair next to me and regards the Charleston skyline. “She says I have some issues from growing up as a child star. I don’t know.” He is silent for a moment and then says, “Are you going to put all this in your article?”
“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to,” I say. I understand that he is revealing a lot to me. I’m unsure why, but he is. There is no reason for me to violate this trust despite his lewd behavior yesterday. Something about the way he is looking at me right now makes me feel sorry for him.
“I know what you want to know is what happened with my career… what happened in New York, but can we just talk about other things first? Hang out with me. Get to know me first? My therapist says that I’m exhibiting disruptive behavior as a stress response to this interview.”
“Okay. What do I have to do?”
He stands and takes my hand. “Nothing. Let’s just have fun.”
I literally just do that. I hang out in the kitchen for the next few hours hardly paying attention to the time. He explains to me where his ideas for his current menu came from.
“After I closed the New York City spot, I took a tour around Asia: Japan, Korea, Cambodia, Philippines, China. The trip gave me inspiration to try something new. To kind of reinvent myself and what people expect of me,” he tells me.
“Why Charleston?”
“I came here on vacation once to check on Sean Brock’s stuff at Husk and McCrady’s. I noticed that there was a serious lack of
ethnic food here. Charleston is a nice place too with the beaches and the parks. So why not?”
“That’s amazing! I’ve always said Charleston needs more than just Southern food.”
“Exactly!” he says in agreement.
Throughout the day, I get numerous texts from Greg asking me where I am. I hadn’t prepared him any dinner or given him a heads up that he’d have to figure out his food situation on his own. I refrain from answering any of his pleas of hunger and abandonment until I get a text from him that says, “What am I supposed to do?” I write back, “Cook your own food. #lame.”
By the end of the night, Winston has redeemed himself. After dinner service is over, we go back up on the roof with a couple of beers. He shows me all the herbs and edible flowers he is cultivating. He touches each plant delicately and with care.
He takes a big swig of beer and says, “You’ve been kind spending all day with me and humoring me. It’s only fair I hold up my end of the bargain.” He sighs deeply.
“You don’t have to tell me anything. It’s your business. I have enough awesome material for an article for ‘Sugar and Salt.’” I say.
He looks at me. I see his eyes brimming with tears. “My mom died.”
I stutter, “I… didn’t know.”
“Ya. Well, I haven’t talked about it. She was my manager you know. My talent manager. The one who organized all my media stuff: my TV show, appearances, stuff like that…”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“I kind of lost it,” he says with a sad laugh. “I let the restaurant go to shit because at the time, I didn’t care about it anymore. My show is even on a long hiatus. Why? Because what did it matter?” He takes another sip of beer. “I’m better now. I took a break from everything.” He takes my hand and says, “That felt really good to talk about. Thank you.”
I squeeze his hand back. My phone dings six successive times in a row. I reluctantly take my hand back to check my phone. It’s Greg. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Do you think you’ll ever do better than me? Do you think anyone gives a fuck about your stupid food writing career? You are the luckiest fat chick in the world.”
I stop reading the rest of the texts. Greg is a nice guy only when you tow the line exactly the way he wants. I’ve seen flickers of his temper before, but I’ve always been sure to do everything he asks of me for fear of losing him. I’ve been the perfect girlfriend that never argues or disagrees for the sake of not upsetting him.
Once, early in our relationship, I disagreed with him about a story in the local paper about a transgender teacher getting fired. He was adamant. "Good. Kids have enough trouble trying to figure out how to read. They don't need the extra problems of trying to figure out if their teacher is a woman or a man."
I was shocked at his stance. "Seriously? They are children. As long as you teach them their teacher is a human being that deserves respect, that's all that matters."
We were at a barbecue spot out in West Ashley, he put his pulled pork sandwich down and said quietly but cruelly. "You can't be fucking serious. Shut the fuck up."
"What?" I couldn't believe my ears. He'd never talked to me like that before.
"Tuck your hair back behind your fucking ears because maybe you didn't fucking hear me. I said shut the fuck up about this. You don't know what you're talking about."
I did what he said. I tucked my loose hair behind both my ears and stared down into my food. Tear drops fell onto my coleslaw. I vowed to never disagree with him again. I didn't want to lose him.
That incident was a long time ago, and I’m tired of being perfect. I'm tired of not being allowed to have my own opinion. I shut my phone off. What I want to say to Greg shouldn’t be over text. “Sorry about that,” I say to Winston.
He wipes his cheek. “No problem.” He smiles at me and cups my chin with palm bringing me in closer to him. He then stops abruptly and says, “I’m reading this wrong? Or? I just want to be sure.”
I smile. “You’re reading it perfectly right.” I bring my lips to his. We kiss; our tongues swirl around each other. Up on the roof with the wind blowing through my hair, I feel free.
Winston stops kissing me and says, “I’ll be right back.”
He returns with a blanket and a smile on his face. “Restaurant is empty.” He lays the blanket down. I sit on the blanket feeling woozy with excitement. He kisses me again with his hand gently on the back of my head. He pulls me to him. With eager hands, he pulls my dress over my head. My skin prickles with goose bumps from the slight chill in the air. He undoes my bra making my large breasts spill out. His hands and tongue feel hot on breasts as he sucks and pinches my nipples firmly. I gasp from his lips curling around my nipple tightly.
My panties feel sodden. My pussy is on fire for his touch. I watch as he tugs his tight shirt off revealing his gorgeous rippled body. I undo his jeans and help him pull them off. His skinny jeans scrunch up at the ankle. We laugh as we both struggle to get them off. His magnificent cock is hard and rigid. Without thinking, I take it into my mouth. He moans from my sudden movement. I’m excited to hear his pleasure.
I suck hard mimicking the way Winston curled his lips around my nipples hardening and fattening them. I lick and suck with my pussy throbbing with desire. Winston pushes away from me. He kisses me on the mouth lightly pulling my hair back with his hand. He positions himself so his cock is in my face and my pussy is in his. He plants his lips on my wet cunt tonguing it like he kissed my mouth just moments before. I gasp from the strong firm strokes of his tongue on my clit.
All I can do to stop from exploding is take his rigid cock back into my mouth. I jam it back into my mouth. My moans of ecstasy from his perfect mouth on my wet pussy are muffled with his thick cock down my throat. I suck and scream. I’m dizzy with pleasure. Winston’s tongue lashes down onto my swollen clit with no mercy. I come in a loud cathartic scream.
The orgasm has left me in a frenzy of lust wanting more of him. “Fuck me!” I say to him. He licks my pussy juice trailing down my thigh before mounting me with force. He plunges his cock inside with delicious power. I cry out again. We look into each other’s eyes. I whisper, “Harder.”
He shoves a thumb into my mouth and says, “Fuck yes. You’re so hot, Lindsey.” I suck on his thumb overcome with intense desire. He thrusts into me so hard my tits bounce. He twists my nipples, “I love your big fat titties,” he moans.
“I love your cock,” I answer.
I’m thrilled by our sex talk. It makes me wetter and drives me to the edge. “Fuck me from behind,” I tell him.
He flips me over on all fours. He slides his wet cock inside my cunt. From this position, he is so deep inside me. He pulls my hair. My face is pulled back, and I’m looking up at the stars while he nails me harder and harder. “It’s so fucking deep,” I scream.
“Do you like that?” he asks me.
“Yes!” I answer back closing my eyes enjoying the fullness and length of his beautiful cock. “Do you like my big ass?”
He slaps my ass hard. “Oh, yeah.” He jiggles my ass cheeks with his hands. I love being on display like this. I shake my ass back and forth letting my cheeks jiggle more for him. “Fuck,” he says. “That’s so hot.”
He reaches down and squeezes my nipples again hard. I cry out enjoying the sting. I feel a tingle from my pussy begin. “Pinch my nipple while I come,” I tell him. With strong fingers, he clamps down on my nipple. I come with glorious force; I feel my pussy juice rush out of me.
“Fuck. You’re a squirter. I love that.”
I’m delighted to hear this. My ejaculation made Greg uncomfortable. He said it was gross. I feel like the most beautiful and most wanted girl in the world right now. Winston, this gorgeous guy, is fucking me doggy style. How I’ve missed different sex positions!
Winston grabs my ass with both hands and pulls me into him as he pushes into me. His cock hits inside my pussy so deep. Feeling no longer nervous about my pussy juice, I let myself go. I come a
gain and again. I don’t fight it.
“Can I come?” Winston asks.
I turn around to look at him. His face is twisted in concentration. I smile at him. He looks at me and smiles. “Of course,” I say. He groans in satisfaction. He pulls his wet cock out and spurts cum all over my ass. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. He lets out a heavy sigh. Out of breath, he says, “Thank you.”
I turn around and say back. “Thank you,” He kisses me softly.
“Are you going to put that in the article?” he says with a laugh.
“Definitely.”
He wraps his arms around me. “I haven’t been with anyone in a really long time,” he says.
I’ve heard through internet gossip that he is an avid playboy. “Really?”
Dirty Erotica Sex Stories Page 92