“No. I mean it, absolutely not. Let go of the
door or I swear to god I’ll report you for harassment.” He lets go
of the door and I slam it shut and start my car. Grateful no one is
behind me, I pull out and skid out of the parking lot.
I’m still shaking as I drive home. I tell
myself it’s everything I deserve. I’d been stupid and I was paying
the price. It didn’t matter I had never shown my face. I’d made the
ultimate mistake and shown someone I wanted them. How had I not
learned after the last time? Remembering the last time my stomach
begins to churn with fear. When was I going to learn?
When I get home I delete my throwaway account
and remove the site from my favorites. I’m done, no more posts, no
more pictures.
The next week flies by as I throw myself into
work and I’m rewarded by a compliment from my boss for all my hard
work. As the week draws to an end, I listen to Claire complaining
about Daryl planning a vacation with his brother to the coast for
fishing. He’d be gone during their anniversary. Of course, he still
hadn’t asked Claire to marry him. Claire is finally beginning to
wonder if he ever will. Although I want to, I don’t say anything
except the acceptable agreeing he was an asshole and become
engrossed with an email when it comes to the marriage thing. Claire
asks if I would be willing to go with her to Dallas to do some
shopping and although I have not a thing planned this weekend I
make something up. I have no desire to get into the middle of what
was going on. Especially if Claire is unwilling to see the truth of
the man she’s with. Claire is disappointed but understanding.
Friday night I clean and nicely tired out, I
fall onto the couch with a book. It’s around ten thirty when my
phone rings and curious, wondering who it could be, I answer.
“Hello?”
“Abby, it’s Jack. Please don’t hang up. After
so long, the back and forth the sexual and the nonsexual, you’ve
been so responsive. The things you’ve told me you wanted to do to
me, the things you wanted me to do to you and then the way you
shared more than that. I thought for sure you were just nervous. I
really thought when we met you would be reassured and we could take
things to the next level. I didn’t mean to make it so that you went
off the website.”
I want to hang up, but after thinking about
the past few months I know now I owe him some kind of explanation.
“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have let things go so far between us
when I had absolutely no plans to follow through. You were the only
guy who seemed normal. The others eventually acted like it was a
bad porno we were supposed to act out. I had no idea what I was
doing on that site. I was just curious at first and then it just, I
think it got out of my control. It felt safe from behind a computer
and I shouldn’t have kept going the way I did. I’m not ready to be
with someone and I hate to tell you this but I definitely don’t
like cops. I don’t like being ordered around, controlled or
manipulated. I’m not going to say all cops are like that but the
ones I’ve met have been. I mean, hell, how did you get my number?
You used your privilege no doubt and I don’t, can’t be with someone
like that, even if I wanted to be with someone. Please, don’t call
me anymore.”
Hanging up is hard and I hold on to the
phone. I long to take a last look at the pictures of him and
stories he’s sent me that I’ve saved but I don’t move. I know I
should delete them but I can’t, just the thought is a punch to the
stomach. No, I wouldn’t contact him again but I was keeping the
photos and stories, they were all I had left of him.
If I thought he was done, I was so very
wrong. He sends me texts begging me to call him. Then he gave up
and pretended like I was responding and we were having
conversations, long texts about what we were doing at the time. He
was funny and sarcastic and he had me laughing again. Then he sent
texts that were so hot I don’t know how my phone didn’t melt. Even
though I told myself not to, I gave in. I used my vibrator, wishing
it was him as I came to his words. What made me crazy was he knew I
did it. I don’t know how he did but he knew. He was making me crazy
and that had to be the reason, the only reason, when after three
weeks he calls me late on a Saturday night I answer.
I open my mouth to tell him to stop calling
but instead I moan his name and sigh. I’m still trembling from the
orgasm I’ve had to the text he’d just sent. His intake of breath is
clear.
“Abby, did you just come for me?”
“Yes.” I whisper, floating as I drift back
from the stars.
“Are your fingers still in your pussy?”
“Yes.” I moan as my fingers linger in my wet
pussy.
“I want you to lick your fingers baby. Taste
yourself the way I tasted you after you left me standing in the
parking lot with your juices on my fingers and my dick hard.”
I do as he orders and sigh. I know the taste
of myself and I like it.
“Abby, I want to bury my face in your pussy
and taste you all over again. Is your clit still tender?”
“Hmm.” Sitting up, I undo the clasp of my bra
that I’d been in too much of a rush to remove and just pulled up to
get at my aching nipples.
“What are you doing baby?”
“My bra, tight, taking it off.”
“Your breasts are so beautiful, my cock is
twitching thinking of them. Are your nipples hard, have you been
playing with them while you read what I want to do to you?”
“Yes.” I whisper, ashamed as I attempt to
sooth the tight peaks.
“Don’t baby, don’t sound like that. I wrote
it to make you come. I wrote it because I can’t be near you and I
want to be so badly. But if you aren’t ready for that, I’ll take
what I can get.
I wish I were there with you now. I want you
to take a nipple into your mouth and suck it deep into your mouth.
Will you suck your nipple for me baby? Suck it deep into your mouth
and play with your nipple with your tongue. That’s a good girl I
can hear you moaning. Say my name. Say it.” I moan his name and he
sighs. “Good girl, now do the same to your other breast but now I
want you to use your teeth just a light grazing of your teeth and
then suck it deep inside your mouth while your tongue plays with
it. That’s it baby, you like that don’t you? I can hear you that
you do. Put your fingers back in your pussy.
Put them back in for me. I want you to slide
your middle finger deep inside yourself while you suck your tits.”
I can only moan his name. He’s setting my body on fire all over
again from his words. His voice in my ear makes it feel like he’s
here with me. “I’m looking at your tits right now. I can see
they’re wet from your mouth, make them wetter for me. Suck them
into your mouth and then I want you to take a nipple between your
fingers and roll it around and squeeze it, almost till it hurts.
Your little gasp just caused my cock to jerk, I’m leaking all over
my cock for you. Is your finger still in your pussy, sliding into
you where my cock should be?”
“Yes, oh yes.” I’m so close. I want to
come.
“Not yet Abby, don’t come yet. I want you to
add another finger to your pussy. Do it for me baby, add another
finger for me. Feels good, you like that?” I can only sigh, and
whimper, speech is too much for me. “That’s good baby, now a third
finger, add a third finger. Now I want you to slide your thumb up
to your clit, I know it’s swollen and as hard as my cock. Slide it
over again and again.” I’m sobbing with the power of my climax and
my body is shaking. I want him here with me and it’s his name on my
lips as I fall apart. His breath is hard in my ear and through the
phone I can hear his hand stroking his cock. Then he groans my name
and I know he’s come for me.
Moaning, feeling lost and alone I roll over
in bed and bury my face in the pillow. Knowing I have no other
words left, I end the call. Then terrified of what might happen
next, I turn off my cell.
That was the start of it. He would call late
at night, at least three times a week, sometimes in the middle of
the week but usually Friday or Saturday. Every time I told myself
not to answer, but I would. He would then talk me through the
hottest phone sex I could ever imagine. Some nights I dressed for
him, in sexy lingerie or a set of bra and panties and once I was so
hot and ready I went to bed naked, waiting for him to call.
On the nights when he didn’t call it was
harder to fall asleep and I would use his stories and pictures to
bring myself to orgasm. Refusing to admit I had wanted him to call
and missed him.
When it happened I shouldn’t have been
surprised but I was. It had been almost six weeks since his first
call. It’s a Saturday night and I’m in a lace white baby doll that
showed more than it hid. There’s ribbon that holds the thin white
lace over the cups of my breasts. It’s designed to be worn with
panties but I’m too impatient for them. But it’s not the phone that
rings, it’s the doorbell. I know without a doubt it’s him. I’m not
proud of my actions. I pull the covers over me, praying he’ll go
away. But I’m not five and he’s not a monster under the bed. He’s a
six foot muscled, living breathing man and he’s pounding on the
door calling my name. I freeze as I consider what my neighbors
would think. The closest robe at hand is a light red silky robe
that barely comes to my thighs. Throwing it on, I run for the door,
cinching it so tight I’m sure I’ll have a bruise.
I open the door but only enough for him to
see me through. “Damn it. Jack, what are you doing?”
“Abby, I think it’s pretty obvious what I’m
doing. I laid down to call you and I just couldn’t hit send. I
needed to see you again, smell you again. I want you in my arms, my
hands on your body, not a phone.” He pushes the door, slowly but
steadily back and then he steps closer. I step back, afraid of how
much I want him and what he will do when he knows it. He closes the
door and locks it. He’s dressed in jeans and a plain white tee
shirt that caresses his body, showing his muscled chest through
it.
His eyes are hot on me, studying me and then
he reaches for me but as much as I want him, I’m not ready. I shake
my head, it’s a warning but he’s intent. His hand comes up around
my wrist, his grip isn’t tight but firm, I’m not getting away. It’s
that knowledge, that he won’t let me go, that causes it all to come
flooding back. The idea of Jack so much stronger, bigger than me.
His dick is too big, I’m too tight and the pain, oh god the pain. I
lose it, fear overcomes everything.
“Please don’t hurt me, please no. I’m sorry,
I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me. Stop! Please stop!” Hysterical and
unable to stop the shaking that overcomes me, tears flood my eyes
and I see nothing, know nothing. Until gradually I realize I’m
being rocked. He’s all around me, I’m on his lap and before it
would have terrified me but his hold is loose and he smells so
good. He’s stroking my hair murmuring words of reassurance. I have
no idea how long it takes for me to calm down. I’m lost in
something I’ve never known before. Safe, I’m safe with him, in his
arms. Gradually, my body melts against him, taking in his heat,
warming me all the way inside. It isn’t sexual, even though he has
to be aware I’m practically naked in his arms. I can feel the robe
has ridden up and his jeans are below my bare ass. All those things
should have me scrambling off of him and away but I’m not. There is
no sexual tension in Jack, it is simply comfort that Jack offers
and that eases my fears until they all fall away.
Feeling the change in me, he stops murmuring
his words of reassurance, just continues to rock me and strokes my
hair. At last, I’m able to lift my head and look at him. I begin to
apologize but he shakes his head. Taking off his shirt, he uses it
to wipe the tears away. He’s gentle, caressing and patient when his
actions start another few tears to fall.
“I’m sorry.” I whisper, the words a shudder
of breath.
“No, don’t apologize to me, Abby. Tell me,
who hurt you?”
I don’t want to remember, it’s safer to
forget. I close my eyes against the memories of that night. Jack
won’t let me hide. He grasps my chin, and forces my eyes up to his.
His hold is gentle and he runs his thumb over my pursed lips.
“Talk to me baby, he can’t hurt you, he’ll
never hurt you again.”
Shame spirals up inside me, when he knows he
won’t want me anymore. I’m sure of it. “It was my fault.”
He closes his eyes and his face hardens.
Shaking his head as he exhales a shaky breath. “No, it wasn’t your
fault.”
“It was, I asked for him to, to have sex with
me. I had heard it from my father for years that only sluts and
whores had sex before they were married. I hated him but I was
scared he would find out and so although I had fooled around with
boys I had never gone too far.
So when I graduated from college and my
father didn’t attend, I was angry but I felt free. There was a guy,
he’d been so nice. A little dorky and serious, not like all the
frat boys. So, at a graduation party I got drunk and I led him to a
room and I told him what I wanted. I asked for sex but, but I had
no idea. He was so big, way too big and I wasn’t wet enough and it
hurt so bad, I asked him to stop but he wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t,
he laughed. He told me it was what I had asked for and it hurt so
bad I thought I was going to pass out but he wouldn’t stop.
Finally, he came and rolled off of me and left me there. There was
so much blood and it hurt so badly I could barely walk. My roommate
helped me home but the bleeding wouldn’t stop, so she took me to
the hospital.
When I went to the hospital it was so bad I
needed stitches. They wanted me to report it as rape but I was too
scared. I didn’t want my father to know. Even though I was over
twenty one and asked them not to, they contacted my father. He came
in and told me I’d deserved what I had gotten and there was no way
I could report it as rape because I’d asked for it. With all of
that no jury would convict and I would be damaging his name and his
career. He’d be damned if people said Senator Michaels had a whore
for a daughter. He wouldn’t allow it.”