With a sigh I delete his messages unread and
wonder what the hell I’m doing. I can’t keep responding to him, it
isn’t fair, if I know I’m not going to meet him. It seems too much
like teasing and it isn’t fair to him. Then I look at all the other
messages unread. What am I doing period? Am I ready to get involved
with someone? Almost immediately my mind recoils at the thought,
no, not yet. It doesn’t matter it would going on six years, the
answer is a very firm no. Then what am I doing? I had been doing it
for almost six months now, when was I going to call time? Closing
the laptop, not answering any of the messages I get up to take a
shower. I don’t know and it’s not something I’m ready to answer
yet.
Rolling over I swear at the time and the
ringing phone. I’m sure of who it is and I want to ignore it but I
answer anyway. I’m not surprised to hear Claire saying my name
before I even open my mouth to say hello.
“I hate you.” I groan, closing my eyes
against the sunlight streaming through the window.
“Abby, I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.”
“I have every right to hate you. This is
going to be the fourth out of seven times you are canceling on
plans that you suggested. As if that weren’t bad enough you’re
calling me at eight in the morning when you know I like to sleep in
on the weekend until at least nine. I repeat, I hate you.”
“Ughh, Abby I think this is it. I really
think he’s going to ask me to marry him. I’m sure of it. A drive to
Fredricksburg, just for the fun of it. Please don’t hate me. Our
anniversary is in two weeks, six years, I’m sure this is it.”
I sigh and don’t say what I really want to
say. Instead I say no big deal, have fun and hang up. Rolling over
I bury my face in the pillow. Daryl is never going to ask Claire to
get married, the man is an egotistical, vain, control freak. More
than likely, it is just another attempt to make sure he has Claire
in check, rather than a desire to drive anywhere. When ever Claire
made plans without checking with him first, it’s a move Daryl
pulled. I hate Daryl with a passion, the man has hit on me
repeatedly. I have no doubt he cheats on Claire. Added to that he’s
a cop who thinks his word is law, I hate controlling men and I
really dislike cops.
I had a roommate when I first moved to Austin
who dated a cop. He’d been close-mouthed, rude and also very
controlling of my roommate. I’ve had enough of controlling men to
last a life time. I don’t want to be anywhere near them and found
excuses to stop visiting Claire at home when Daryl was there or any
other event where Daryl might be there. I once did a shitty job of
hinting to Claire that she could do better and it had resulted in
our first major fight. I had apologized and learned to keep my
mouth shut ever since.
The phone in my hand vibrates and it’s a text
from my mother checking in. I respond back and after a short volley
of texts my mother ends with a kiss and hug and to be careful. A
bitter laugh escapes me. If anyone needed to be careful it’s my
mother. I wasn’t the one who might end the day in carefully hidden
bruises if my mother angered my father. My mind twirls as I think
of the two women who have shown me just how lucky I am to not have
a man in my life. I give up on sleep, push out of bed and make my
way to the shower, grateful to be very single.
Sipping my second cup of coffee, I’m bored
and now that Claire has cancelled, I’m at loose ends. My condo is
clean, laundry done and groceries purchased. The last two things
had been done last night to make time for the movie and lunch
previously scheduled with Claire. For a moment I consider going to
the movie alone but it’s opening weekend and would be packed so I
shake my head. My laptop is calling to me but I don’t want to spend
the day hiding in front of it. Instead, I open the door to my third
story balcony, and look out over winding south Lamar. I have a tiny
bistro set out that I love to have coffee at on the weekends. It’s
fun to watch south Lamar overspill with cars, buses, people on
bikes and the often interesting looking hipster walking and waiting
for a bus. Finishing my coffee I make the decision, it was off to
the bookstore.
Back in the bedroom I dress carefully. My bra
and panties are a sheer baby blue with white lace around the edges.
My skirt is a flirty school girl plaid red and black and skims just
two inches past my ass. I pick out a tight, red and silky button
down. I leave the top three buttons undone, my cleavage begging for
attention. To heighten the appeal I add a diamond circle necklace
that ends just as the valley of my breasts begin. I consider the
stockings and garter belt and shake my head, it would be too
much.
In my bathroom, I pat on powder to prevent
oil but only put on a dark red lipstick. I’ve often been called
pretty without the need for makeup, a few times beautiful and I
shrug it off. For me, I only appreciate not fussing with it all.
The few times I had tried in high school, the result was far from
what I had attempted. I have a heart shaped face with dark blue
eyes and naturally my long hair is a sandy blond. It fits my easily
tanned golden skin. I think my nose is too small and pert and my
mouth too wide and full. I am, however, grateful for round, high
cheekbones that never need blush. I look like neither my mother or
my father but I do look very much like my father’s mother. Which is
a disappointment, because I really hate the woman. So when people
compliment my looks I take no enjoyment from it.
Running the flat iron through my hair, it
takes about ten minutes for the light waves to disappear. Brushing
it out, the ends reach the curve of my breasts and I wonder if it’s
time for another hair cut. I’m lazy about hair cuts. I use the
expensive salon shampoo and conditioner and I’m lucky to have hair
that’s lush and soft and receive compliments no matter how long it
had been since the last cut. I prefer it to just graze my shoulders
but I’ve been busy for the last few months. Adding a product to
smooth out fly aways I shrug, I’ll think about it.
Picking out sandals with just the slightest
heel I can see my pedicure from last week still looks good and the
dark red went well with my top and lipstick. Although there is a
used bookstore nearby that I usually buy most of my books at, I
make my way to the big name bookstore a few miles from my place.
The aisles are larger and easier to browse in the big name
bookstore and I like the coffee in the café inside the store.
The parking lot is packed and I have to park
a bit away from the store and I’m turned on by the wind picking up
my skirt. Spending about a half hour browsing I encounter several
appreciative glances and one longing stare. It isn’t long before
the attention sends me into the restroom. Already occupied with a
mother and daughter, I go into the stall and take three pictures
there, even though it’s more of a turn on to do it in front of the
mirror, where I could get caught. My first one I’m bending over
showing my impressive cleavage, the next one I’ve unbuttoned my
shirt just once and it allows my bra encased breasts to spill out
in full view, the last I pull my bra below my breasts lifting them
out with my nipples hard. By the time I’m done the room is empty,
standing in front of the mirror I take the chance to take another
with my tits out and post them to the website with the note I’m at
the bookstore and looking for the book O.
Feeling naughty and smug I browse and when a
book catches my eye I pick it out. Once I have four, I make my way
to the café area. I’m lucky to find a small empty table, I settle
down with a latte. With a sigh of pleasure, I open the first book
and begin to read. If I like the first three chapters I’ll set it
to the side as a possible buy either then or to order off the
internet on my tablet.
I’m on the third book when he appears. It’s a
good book and I’m into it but I feel eyes on me. I look up and he’s
right in front of me. His hands are on the back of the empty seat
in front of me. It’s Jack, my stomach drops. Then I take him all
in, he’s wearing a uniform. He’s a cop, shit. My mouth goes dry and
I attempt to swallow but it’s hard. It isn’t fair, it just isn’t
fair, he’s tall at least six feet and how could it be he’s more
attractive in person?
“Hey Abby, you’re looking gorgeous today, but
you know that already, don’t you?” His voice is deep, with a hint
of gravel.
The book slides from my hands. I can’t look
at him, my eyes slide down to my clenched hands. My heartbeat is
pounding in my ears and then he pulls out the chair and sits down.
He captures my hands in his own large warm hands and they nearly
disappear. His grip is gentle and light but it still sends fire
flooding though my entire body. “It’s okay, baby. I couldn’t help
it, you haven’t answered my messages. When I saw your post, I knew
where you were and had to take the chance.
Abby, talk to me, please. Tell me why you
don’t want to see me when we click so well. I know we did, you told
me what I sent you made you hot and wet. You told me you used not
just my words but my pictures to make you come.
Then it wasn’t just about your body. You
shared your day, your thoughts on the evils of reality television,
and your favorite books, it felt like more than sex. Or was it just
your body you wanted to share and you shared it with everyone on
the site and our back and forth was the same as what you did with
all the others?” He asks as he leans forward.
He’s too damn close, his hands are finally on
me. Something, I never believed would happen and he feels better
than I could have ever imagined. My body is begging for more of his
touch, on not just my hands but my breasts, full and swollen for
him, my stomach, twitching against the material of my shirt and my
pussy, I want his touch there so badly I’m leaking onto the chair.
Despite all of that, I shake my head. I can’t tell him that he’s
the only man I’ve had an ongoing flirtation with. There had been a
few men I had responded to but it had quickly devolved and become
scary or crude and ugly. I can’t tell him that, refuse to tell him
that. I know he’ll never go away when he knows it’s only been him I
thought about for the last few months when I played with
myself.
Fear of not just him but my body’s reaction
to him gives me the strength I need. I pull away, grab my purse and
flee. I’m almost to my car when he catches up to me. He calls my
name but I shake my head and pull out my keys. I’m trembling so
badly, my body suffering from the withdrawal of his touch, I drop
them and he’s there. His hands move around me, flat on the car,
caging me in with his body. No, I don’t want this I think, even as
I fight the urge to lean back into him.
“Abby,” Breath hot against my ear singes me
down my spine. Need hot and wet flares through my body. My nipples,
are tight points of pain and very visible through the silk of my
bra and the light shirt. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I don’t want
to scare you baby. I just want to fuck you long and hard until you
can’t move, until your pussy overflows with my come, until there’s
nothing left in me. You told me you dreamed of my cock inside you,
do you remember that? You told me you dreamed I fucked you for
hours and when you woke up alone and empty you were sad. Are there
others you tell the same thing to? If so I guess I understand and
it won’t make me happy but it didn’t feel like I was being given a
line. It felt like you wanted my cock buried inside you as badly as
I want it.” He rubs his hard cock against my ass, and I can’t fight
the moan that escapes me. “Tell me Abby, are there others?” He rubs
again and his hands move to my hips, his grip firm and I feel his
touch even though my clothing, the heat of his touch burns me and
then he finds the crevice of my ass and rubs against me again. My
skin is too tight, my clothes hurt against my heated skin.
“Just you, Jack, no one else.” I moan.
His right hand slides down my body and I know
where he’s going. I know I should close my legs and push him away.
I can’t, his touch feels too good. Instead, I lean against his
hard, muscled body and simply melt against him, he feels so good.
My legs tremble and I pray I can stay standing as I open my legs as
he inches up my inner thigh and finds the front of my panties
soaking wet. At the feel of his fingers there I gush with
anticipation for him, my hips rock forward, begging for more.
He hisses my name in my ear, “Abby, tell
me.”
“I only come to your pictures and words. I
only touch myself while I read what you wrote for me.” I confess
and I’m rewarded with his thick fingers slipping under my panties
and along the lips of my pussy. I can’t hold back the moan, I want
more, need more. His touch feels so good and I swear I can feel
every ridge of detail on his fingertips he’s moving so slow.
Groaning his name, my body is begging for more and my hips rock
again. I want to cry from relief when his thick fingers slide
inside me down and then up finding my clit swollen and aching for
him. My knees give way and his arm is there around my waist holding
me up against him. Just a few swipes of my clit is all it takes and
I come apart in his arms.
“That’s a good girl.” He soothes me as I
shake in his arms. Then a car door slams close by.
Shock and shame flares at the extremely
public location between my car and an SUV. What the fuck was the
matter with me? I bend down to pick up my keys and he backs up to
give me some room. “I can’t believe we did that. I, look this isn’t
going to happen. I don’t want to get involved with anyone. I
definitely don’t want a stalker. I’m really sorry if you feel like
I led you on and maybe I did. Again, I’m sorry for that. I have to
go.”
He catches my car door. “Give me your
number.” It was an order and everything that I’ve promised I would
never deal with.