“I am not going to talk to you about other women I have been with, Kelli. But I will say this: they have not been as willing as you are to please me. You stand alone in that regard,” he let go of my hand as the waitress handed him a cup of coffee and a glass of water.
“I really like your tattoos,” the waitress said as she handed him the coffee.
“Thank you,” Erik responded to her, smiling a half-fake smile.
This happened almost every time we went out together. Some girl would tell him that they liked his tattoos.
Oh my God, I love your tattoos…Your tattoos are so pretty…I really like the way your sleeve looks…
I really got tired of hearing it. It was bad enough that he was gorgeous, and a Channing Tatum double. The tattoos just gave random people a reason to talk to him.
“What about kids?” he asked.
Oh, this was easy for me, but I wondered what he wanted me to say. Kids --I fucking hate kids. Every girl I know couldn’t wait to have a kid. The thought of having or being around a kid made my stomach ache. When I was in public, and I saw someone with a kid, I wanted to leave – have them leave, something. I detest children. I decided to roll the dice.
“I’m undecided on
that; I guess it depends on the person and the status of the relationship. You know, if I felt comfortable, I would consider it,” I said, trying to look naturally happy. I may have even smiled a little.
“You just lied,” he said. His pursed his lips, and his mouth formed a little smile, like he had caught me stealing something. He shook his head.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Because you did. Your eyes. You lied. Let’s do this correctly, Kelli. No lying. No trying to tell me what I want to hear. I can’t stand kids. Kids make my skin crawl. The thought of children makes me ill.”
“Okay, I am sorry. I lied. I hate kids too. They make me sick, and that will
never
change,” I said, relieved.
He added cream and sugar to his coffee and stirred it. “Let me get a few drinks of this, and let’s get started,” he said, looking up from his coffee as he took a drink.
“Get started on what?”
“This relationship, baby girl,” he responded.
ERIK
. The mention of me being in a relationship, just six weeks ago, would have made me laugh out loud. Today, I was actually eager to see what may happen between Kelli and I. The thought of it truly working was exciting to me. As we pulled out of the airport, and began to accelerate up the road, I smiled.
Not having children was probably the single most important thing to me regarding a relationship. Children bring a certain responsibility that I wasn’t prepared to attempt to manage. Over the years, this one thing, subconsciously, kept me out of several relationships that I may have entertained being in. Kelli not wanting children was a tremendous relief. Even though she was adamant in her declaration of hatred toward children, I wondered about her sincerity.
We would spend some more time discussing children in the future; if I was certain that she didn’t want children, being in and maintaining a relationship with her just may be something that I could do. The thought of being in a relationship with her was comforting. Traveling, vacations, going to different countries, different states, and sharing all of that with someone that I enjoyed spending time with – the thought of doing that with a
woman
was appealing.
I had decided when I was young – maybe as young as sixteen, that I did not want children. That feeling never faded. I felt, being an only child, and being the son of parents that were only children, that bringing a child into this earth would be wrong. If I were to die, and at some point in time I certainly would, that would leave a child in this world no different than me – without any form of elder to lean on. No family. Alone.
Having Kelli on the back of the motorcycle was another comfort that I would not have guessed I would enjoy. In the past, the thought of having a woman on the back of my motorcycle was repulsive. Having a woman on my motorcycle was something that I looked at as being intimate. I differed from a lot of men in that respect. Most men that I rode with would give any woman that asked a ride on their motorcycle. I purposely rode a motorcycle without a permanent back seat. Unless I added the seat on the motorcycle before I left the house, there was not an option for a person to ride on it.
Not having the seat saved people’s feelings and saved me a lot of grief. I could count on one hand the amount of women that had ridden on the back of my motorcycle in my lifetime. It would require a tremendous amount of time, calculator, a pen and paper to count the amount of women that could have ridden on it.
Kelli riding behind me felt natural. She was petite, and did not weigh very much, so she wasn’t even noticeable when maneuvering the motorcycle. Her arms wrapped around my waist provided a reassurance that she was there. Not just on the motorcycle, but as a part or an extension of me.
Riding a motorcycle had become, at an early age, part of me. It was not something that I did because I enjoyed doing
so; it was a part of
who
I was. For me, it was a type of therapy. I could have the worst possible day, take a thirty minute motorcycle ride, and rid myself of all of the thoughts associated with the day. Being on a motorcycle separated me from all of the realities of life; money, bills, requirements, people, rules, and regulations did not exist when I rode. To describe the feeling of riding, to me, would be the same as a bird describing flight. A mode of transportation and a certain feeling of freedom combined.
The small airport where we had eaten lunch was in a rural area between two cities. A series of paved county roads and a highway tied the airport to the major city. I had opted to come to, and leave the airport on the county two-lane roads. On the way to the airport, I had seen a large home for sale directly off of the paved road. There were several fenced acres of grass, a long driveway, and what appeared to be a very nice two story home marked by a realtors sign. As soon as I noticed the sign in the distance, I began to slow down the motorcycle.
I decelerated until we reached the driveway to the home, and turned into the drive. As we slowly rode up the driveway toward the house, Kelli spoke into my right ear. The exhaust noise of the motorcycle typically made conversations impossible while riding, but at this slow speed, there was virtually no wind and no noise from the exhaust.
“What are we doing? Do you know this guy?” she asked.
“No, we’re just looking,” I responded.
She sat back in the seat and relaxed. As I approached the home I revved the throttle to create as much of a disturbance as possible. The driveway circled around the front of the home, and tied back into the entrance. I pulled directly in front of the front porch of the home and killed the engine on the bike. I placed the kickstand down and secured the bike on the asphalt driveway.
“Go ahead and get off, Kelli. Be careful of the exhaust,” I said, pointing to the exhaust pipe beside Kelli’s leg.
“Okay,” she said as she got off the motorcycle.
Standing beside the motorcycle, she admired at the home.
“This place is huge. What are we doing?”
“I saw it was for sale, I was just pulling in here to take a look,” I responded as I got off of the motorcycle.
I began walking to the front door of the home, and Kelli followed. Standing on the porch and looking into the window of the home, it looked vacant. All of the lights were off, and there were a few local newspapers on the porch. I knocked on the door and rang the doorbell.
“So, do you want to buy this place?” Kelli asked as we stood on the porch.
“Not necessarily. I was just seeing if anyone was home,” I responded as I picked up the welcome mat and looked under it for a key.
“What are you looking for?” Kelli asked as I picked up the mat.
“A key,” I responded.
“Oh my God, why?” she asked, with both her eyebrows raised in wonder.
“Because I am going to take you inside and fuck you senseless, and if I can’t find a key, I will have to break a window. To tell you the truth, I would rather not break a window, so I am looking for a key.” I responded as I ran my hand along the st
ructure of the awning of the porch.
“Holy crap, are you serious?”
“Totally,” I said, still feeling for a key along the wooden structure.
“And you don’t know these people? This isn’t a joke? You are just going to take me inside and fuck me? In some random house?” Kelli asked as she looked through the window into what appeared to be the living room.
“That is correct. I have no idea who lives here. All of the grass appeared to be recently cut, but there weren’t any garage doors open when we rode by earlier. It’s Saturday, and most people with this much grass to cut would be up cutting it this morning. The fact that it’s already cut means that someone did it in the last few days. More than likely they’ve hired someone to take care of it, and they’ve already moved elsewhere. The newspapers you’re stepping on mean they haven’t been on this porch for at least a few days. Now, it is Saturday, so the realtor could arrive any minute with a client…here we go,” I said as I felt a key along the structure.
I pulled the key down and looked at it.
Schlage
was imprinted on the key. Clearly this was a key to the door. I walked to the door, inserted the key, and turned the handle. The door opened. I placed the key in my pocket, and walked inside the door.
“Get in here, Kelli, we’re going to have to make this quick, we might not have much time.”
KELLI.
I have always thought of myself as a fairly adventurous sexual person. I have done some things, sexually, that I am well aware most other girls would never do. I have also been highly aroused by situations and circumstances that would more than likely make a lot of girls feel uneasy or uncomfortable. In the past, I have wondered if there is something wrong with me because of what excites me, sexually. I have never talked to anyone about it, but I know that there is something wrong with me mentally. Normal people are not aroused by the strange sex, and the strange sexual circumstances that I am.
The things that Erik and I have done never scared me for one minute. I never thought,
should I do this, or should I say no.
To me, it was just sex. Something fun. I never thought for one minute that it was something that I should consider
not
doing. I would say that Erik and my sexual escapades have been mild compared to what I would
consider
doing. When we left the mall, I wondered what he might offer, sexually, that would make me wonder if I had the ability to go against my best judgment.
Going into this house wasn’t that
one thing
, but it certainly was close. Walking into the house, I could tell that I was already wet. My groin tingled and itched for Erik. I had left my panties in my purse when I changed into my jeans, and my jeans were pressed into my crotch for the entire motorcycle ride. Wondering what he had in mind, I looked around. Surprisingly, the house was clean, and didn’t smell bad.
The home had a modern look to it, and a very open floor plan. The kitchen was in the rear of the home, and open to the rest of the living area that we were standing in. The front of the house, separated by the front door, was two large rooms that were covered in windows. The large windows faced the street that we had ridden down to get here. None of the windows in the house had any form of coverings or blinds on them. I followed Erik into the home, looking around as we walked through it.
“This place is huge,” I said, looking up the stairs that led out of the kitchen to the upstairs.
“Come here, Kelli,” Erik said, standing in the kitchen.
“We haven’t got a lot of time, get
in
here,” he said in a more demanding tone.
The hallway that I was standing in was a hardwood floor, as was the kitchen. The rooms on the other side of the hallway were carpeted. My sneakers squeaked as I walked on the hardwood floor. I looked into the kitchen where Erik stood, and watched him remove his shirt.
This was the first time I had seen Erik with his shirt off. When He removed it over his head, his stomach muscles flexed. His stomach was flat, but rippled with muscles. He had an eight-pack, not a six-pack. His entire stomach was covered in a snake tattoo that went up to his chest. Both sides of his chest were covered in the same tattoo. From his belt line, the tattoo started, and went back and forth across his stomach until it ended at his chest, right below the collar of where a tee shirt would cover it. As he lowered his arms, and tossed his shirt on the kitchen counter, his size of his chest was obvious. In a tee shirt, it was clear that he was in shape. With his tee shirt off, it was very clear that he was in better shape than
in shape
. A small waist, wide chest, large upper arms, and very broad shoulders. The muscles on his chest twitched as he stood looking at me.