Erik Ead:
Let me ask you a few questions. Think about these, Kelli, but do not respond. Be prepared to respond tonight. This isn’t a list of wants, needs, or desires, it is a list of questions. Be prepared to answer how these questions make you feel. Whether or not reading them makes you want to immediately rush out and do each of the things isn’t important. I want to know how they make you feel when you think of them.
You’re standing in front of me with my arms around you. I look you in the eyes, and place my hands on your shoulders and say, “Get down on your knees, you sexy little whore, and suck your daddy’s dick like a good little girl,” Turn on or turn off?
We’re in a movie theatre watching a movie. You’re wearing a dress. The movie theatre doesn’t have that many people in it, but they are scattered about. I lean over and whisper in your ear, “Slide over here, Kelli, and get on my lap. Ride my cock. Fuck me, Kelli. Fuck me now,” Turn on or turn off?
We’re driving down the street, it is daylight. We’re in the city, in traffic. I tell you to suck my dick as I drive, and that I want you to swallow my cum. Turn on or turn off?
You’re down on your knees, giving me head. My hands are resting on your shoulders. I tell you to look at me while you’re sucking my dick. We make eye contact. I slowly slide my hands to your head, and begin forcing myself in and out of your throat, making you gag on me until your eyes water. Turn on or turn off?
We walk in the bedroom. You’re wearing a dress. I step behind you. I place my hand on the small of your back, and the other around your cheek, cupping your face. I turn your face my direction, and I kiss you. As we kiss, I slide my hand from your back around to your hip. With my other hand, I push your upper body down, bending you at the hips. Not a word is spoken. You bend at the hips, you hear my belt unbuckle, and pants drop. I lift your dress, and force myself into you deeply. Quickly, I begin to fuck you with such force that my balls are banging against your clit, and my hips are slapping against your ass, forcing you into the bed. As I am fucking you harder and harder, my hand slides from your hip to your neck. You feel my hand tighten around your throat as I continue to shove you full of cock…turn on or turn off?
I read each one of them, and reread them. All of them turned me on. The more I read them, the more turned on I got. A part of the feeling, I am sure, was because of who sent them. The other part of the turn on was what the questions were asking me to do, or to consider. There wasn’t a part of the questions that didn’t turn me on. Just asking those things turned me on. Also, I began to wonder, as deep, mentally, as Erik was…if he wanted to know if it was a turn on for me to
read
it, or if it was a turn on for me to
think
it, or if it would be a turn on in my mind for me to actually
do
it?
I decided yes to all of the above. I was ready to discuss this with him. I wanted to perform for him, and I wanted to make him so happy with my performance. I wanted to have him push me to my knees, and force himself on me, telling me,
Get down on your knees you little whore, and suck your daddy’s….
The thought of it made me begin to be comfortably uncomfortable.
I have never been so concerned with what someone thinks about me. I have always, in a way, used guys for sex. I have always used them to get what I want, and left them before or as they decided that they were falling for me. I never wanted them to perceive me for being ugly, or awful sexually, but I didn’t really care, for the most part, what they thought.
Trying to decide what to wear is always a task for me. Tonight, I walked to my room and picked out a summer dress to wear, and got dressed. Panties or no panties. Decisions, decisions, decisions. No panties. Flats or heels. Flats. Hair up or down? Down. Now, standing in front of the mirror, I looked for any imperfections. None. I checked my phone and found no messages. It was 6:00. Maybe he got hung up at the biker card game thing. I took off my dress and sat on the couch in my flats and bra. I no more than sat down and the phone beeped.
Erik Ead:
Call me
I pushed dial, and immediately called him back. It rang twice, and he answered.
“Good evening, Kelli.”
“Hello, how was the motorcycle ride,” I asked.
“It was a great ride, thank you. Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“Are you home?”
“Yes, sir, I am home.”
“Come out front, I am parked in front of the front door,”
“You know where I live? You’re here?” I asked as I looked out the window toward the street. From the third floor, I could see the street, and almost directly in front of the door. I saw a black BMW M3 parked there, and wondered if that was him.
“Yes, and yes,” he responded.
“But…okay. I will be down in a second,” I said as I grabbed my purse and raced for the door. As I got into the elevator and pushed the button, I wondered if that was him in the car, or if he was on his motorcycle. I never thought to ask. I began to wonder about the series of questions that he texted me, telling me,
think about these Kelli, but do not respond
. I also remembered that he asked those three weird questions. Grapefruits, chopsticks, and going on interracial dates. Weird. He said he’d explain later, but he didn’t. The elevator reached the street level, and I exited, and walked toward the door that leads to the street.
As I got to the front door and opened it, I could see him through the windows of the car. It was a black BMW M3. I looked at the back of the car for the badge of my father’s dealership, but I did not see one. I reached for the passenger door, and I noticed him lean over and open it for me. As the door came ajar, I finished opening it and got in.
“Good evening, Kelli,” he smiled as he spoke. He smelled so good.
“Good evening. First things first. What are you wearing?”
“Jeans, black leather shoes, and a grey V-neck tee,” he responded, motioning to his clothes with his right hand.
“No, the cologne. It’s wonderful.”
“Oh, I see. Yves St. Laurent, L’Homme,”
“Well, whatever it is, I love it.”
“Buckle your seat belt, Kelli. And thank you,” he said as he pulled from the curb.
As I buckled my seatbelt, I studied him. He was focused on the road, and speeding up slowly, shifting gears with the paddle shifters on the steering wheel. I had seen enough of these cars in my father’s dealership to know what he was doing, and what this car was capable of doing. It was basically a race car for the street - and fairly expensive for a guy who lives in Bel Aire In a shitty house.
His jaw was tight as he drove. His strong chin slightly lifted, and with his hands tight on the wheel, his biceps flexed as he either turned the steering wheel or shifted. I was becoming lost in watching him. Watching him just drive was enough to satisfy me. I didn’t know what he was doing to me, but he was doing it really well.
“So, what are we doing, Erik?” I asked as I watched him turn the corner.
“We’re getting to know each other, Kelli. We’re beginning a relationship that will consist of a friendship with sex, but no commitment on either of our parts to be in love with the other person. In this relationship, sexually speaking, I will be dominant and you will be submissive. And Kelli, I will fuck you within an inch of your respective life,” he turned and smiled as he said the last part of what he was saying.
His smile and the looking my direction lingered for a long moment. I began to feel hot. I started to feel an aching in my groin, and I quickly remembered that I was not wearing panties. I started to daydream about having him forcing me to my knees and talking to me dirty.
“So, uhmm, what was the deal with the question?” I asked, turning to him to see his expression.
“Which questions, Kelli?”
“Well, let’s go with the grapefruit and stuff first,” I responded.
As he sped up through the traffic, he began to speak, “Those, Kelli were just a series of questions I asked you to allow me to understand about what type of person you are without spending a month or two doing so. They, believe it or not, tell me a lot about
who
you are, not so much what you are.”
“The chop sticks. That question tells me whether or not you’re a person that has determination. Whether or not you stick to things and apply yourself, or if you give up and or get bored easy. Most white people are not born with the need to use them, and if they develop a means of doing so, it is because they decided to master the task, and spent the time and effort to do it. If they have mastered it, it means that they’re determined. If they can’t it doesn’t mean they aren’t, but it may. Understand?” he turned to me as he asked me the question.
“Yes sir,” the ‘sir’ just came out so naturally. I didn’t even realize I said it until after it rolled off my tongue. It made me a little uncomfortable knowing and seeing the power this man was going to have over me.
“The grapefruit question. If you hadn’t ever eaten one, it wouldn’t mean anything, necessarily. This question lets me know if you’re naturally w
illing to eat something that most people find repulsive. Grapefruit taste sour. They’re somewhat bitter. People that eat them generally eat them because they know that they’re good for them, or because they want to be in good health. It tells me if you’re someone that is willing to, in a sense, make sacrifices for the betterment of you. Make sense?” he asked, as he turned toward the parking lot of an outdoor strip center.
I nodded, very intrigued by this Erik’s deep mental nature. His being so much different than anyone else I had ever been around made me want to know so much more about him. He actually thought about what he was saying and what he was doing instead of just doing and saying things for the sake of doing it. I had never been so intrigued by anyone. I had never wanted to just open someone up and see all that they had to offer as much as I wanted to do with him, regardless of the amount of the that I had been with them. I had been around Erik for two days, and I wanted to spend whatever amount of time was required to get to know him. As I stared at him in admiration, he began to speak again.
“The last question what more obvious. The interracial dating, and with an African American man, let me explain. Most of society, right or wrong, perceives a black man with a white woman as being wrong. I am not saying that it is, I am merely saying that’s the general public’s view. So, knowing this, if a white girl has, or will consider going on a date with a black man shows me, or tells me, that she is open-minded. That she will, regardless of what society thinks, go with what she feels in her heart. That she is open minded. That she is not easily swayed or convinced to do what society wishes that she do. She is an individual. Understand, Kelli?” he asked as he parked the car in the lot.
I looked around to see for sure where we had gone. I had been staring at him the entire trip, and was not certain of where we ended up. He had driven to Bradley Fair, which was an open shopping and eating environment that had several nice restaurants and a lake with a walking path. I was surprised that we had arrived here so soon. I felt that I was in some form of a trance for the trip, because I hadn’t really noticed that we had traveled the ten miles or so to get here from downtown. I was so intrigued by Erik that I had lost all track of time.
“Yes, I understand. I find you to be quite interesting, Erik,” I said as I reached for the door handle.
I found myself, when talking to him, to be more conscious of my words, more conscious of
how
I said things. Not necessarily what I was saying, but how I said it. He was intelligent, very intelligent, but he did not act like it. He dressed like a younger guy, rode a motorcycle, and tried to speak like he was just one of many other men in this city. By just naturally being Erik, he reeked of his intelligence. I felt like such an idiot around him. I tried to choose my words carefully not to embarrass him or me. This was so unlike me. I was almost always the smartest person in the room, and always the smartest girl. Around him, I felt so mall, so vulnerable.
I opened the door and got out. He got out at the same time, and leaned over the top of the car, and looked at me. As he smiled, I noticed that his face had become more tan, probably from the motorcycle ride all day. His skin was tan, but lacked wrinkles. His face was just like he was; rugged, handsome, intriguing, and gorgeous. I could stare at this guy from now until the end of time.
“Well, what did you decide?” he asked in a raised tone of voice.
“Uhhm, excuse me? About what?” I responded.
“I asked you where you preferred to eat. You stared at me and didn’t respond.”
“Oh, I am sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Or something, I, uhmm, didn’t hear you,” I couldn’t even believe I said that. I sounded like a fool.
“Ok, I will decide,” he said, as he turned and scanned the horizon of buildings.
“Il Vicino. How does that sound?” he asked, motioning to the Italian restaurant in the corner of the parking lot.
“Sounds great. I love that place.”
I walked around toward his side of the car, toward the restaurant. As I got closer to him, he extended his arm, and placed his hand in front of his belt, positioning his elbow out, away from his body.