by Mimi Strong
We ordered, paid, and parked a ways up the street, where we ate inside the truck.
“Your truck is so clean,” I said. “I wouldn't think you'd eat in here, or let anyone else.”
He took a sip of his drink. “This may be the first time.”
“First time for everything,” I said.
He patted the pocket that contained the photocopy of my bum. “I'll say.”
His tie wasn't on, but he was still wearing his nice suit, with two napkins spread across his lap to protect the pants from his messy burger.
I said, “Chili burger, huh?”
“So good,” he said around the mouthful. “I haven't had one in ages. Roxie doesn't let me eat fast food.”
I pulled one of my fries from the container, careful not to overreact without thinking.
He took another sip of his drink and said, “That's my ex. Roxie. I didn't tell you her name, did I?”
“No, you didn't. What do you mean she doesn't let you eat fast food? Doesn't sounds like the present. What's going on?”
“Oh.” He crumpled up the wrapper from his burger. “Slip of the tongue.”
“You guys are divorced, aren't you?”
“We're separated. That's basically divorced.”
I felt myself getting chilly, or feeling chilly, at least. “No, those aren't the same things. They're very different things.” My voice got hard, matching my emotions. “Listen, maybe I'm a rebound fling for you, just some girl you're fucking to cleanse your palate, but do me the courtesy of being honest.”
He stared straight ahead, not meeting my gaze. The vehicle interior was dark, with only a bit of streetlamp illuminating us.
“We're completely over. She's just staying with me temporarily.”
I inhaled sharply. “She's staying with you?”
He turned, met my eyes, then turned away as quickly. “Oh, yeah. I was going to tell you that tonight, but then you distracted me, with your sexy body.”
I crumpled the fast food packages in my hand and tossed the bag on the floor.
“I think you'd better drive me home, or I'm going to throw up in your nice truck.”
He turned, looking worried. “Are you sick? Was it the food?”
“No, Trevor. It's my reaction to you still living with your wife, from whom you are not fucking divorced.”
“We're separated. And she twisted her ankle, so she couldn't get around in her duplex, because it's on three different levels, so she's in one of the guest rooms.”
“Perfect.”
“Naomi.”
“Trevor.”
He shook his head and started the vehicle. I'd meant for him to drive me back to my office, so I could get my car, but he took me home instead. I remembered the car when we pulled up in front of my house, but by this point, I couldn't stand to be in the vehicle with him one more second.
“Naomi, I really like you,” he said.
“Yeah? I think you really like having sex with me. I don't think you know me.”
“Come on. That's not fair. It takes two to tango, and you were all over me on our first date.”
“Maybe. But I didn't not tell you I had some ex living with me. Some ex I wasn't actually divorced from.”
He turned off the engine, but I already had my hand on the door.
“I'm going through a transitional phase right now,” I said.
“You are?”
“Yeah.” I took a calming breath and let my voice get soft and mellow. “Sorry I got so upset with you. I was just shocked, but I think this is a good thing for both of us.”
“We can get past this.”
“No.” I shook my head, feeling more sure of my idea. “We should get over this. We both have issues from our past we needed to get over. I was chasing around boys who weren't dating material, and you are a really nice guy, Trevor. Really nice. And you showed me what it could be like to date a real man, and I think I helped you out too. I think I took your mind off your ex, and now you're ready to date someone. Soon. Not immediately, but she's out there.”
I patted him on the leg and he just stared at me, his mouth open.
I thought about my sister, at her office, working for Trevor, and about things being awkward for her if it all ended badly for me and Trevor, so I said, “No hard feelings, right? Maybe we can go out again, sometime in the future. As friends.”
“Friends ...” he murmured, sounding completely confused.
“Lesson learned,” I said to him. “This is what happens when you won't talk. Someone else has to do all the talking. I'm fine with talking. Look at me, talking up a storm.” I gave him a forced grin. “So, as I was saying, I had a really great time with you on our first date, and on the second, and on whatever the hell this was. Especially the bit with the photocopier. Really fun.” I shook my head, chuckling. “I will not look at that photocopier the same way again. So, let's kiss now. We'll kiss goodnight, we'll say goodbye. Don't get out of the truck, I'll let myself out, okay?”
“Naomi ...”
I kissed him on the mouth to shut him up. His hands reached up for my head, to hold me close, but I pulled away from him.
I wasn't going to let him break my heart, not any more than he already had.
With my head held high, I pulled away, jumped out of the truck, and walked up to my house.
I kept my composure as I opened the door, and then, inside, as I said hello to my parents, who were just finishing dinner. They were having chili and green salad and brown rice. A chocolate cake sat on the counter nearby.
Keeping myself composed, I said, “I ate at the office. Had to work late, and now I have to go check my email for something.”
Mom shook her head. “They work you too hard!”
I shrugged. “I guess some people never learn.”
My father gave me a quizzical look, then said, “We'll save you some cake. You look like you need it.”
“Thanks.” I gave them each a hug, then I ran to my room, shut the door, and cried.
After I was out of tears, I started cleaning my room. I got a storage box and put away some of the collectibles I'd started gathering when I was little—mostly statues of horses and kitties and the usual girlie stuff.
I rearranged the furniture to be different, to offer a fresh perspective. And, because looking at the pink sheets reminded me of seeing Trevor lying on them, with his big, manly body, I tore them off the bed and re-made it with plain, white, grown-up sheets.
My sister felt Trevor was transitional, as in representing a change in me.
And it was true. Cleaning my room had just got me started, and I was planning my next move, moving out on my own, away from the easy comfort of my parents. I had a few friends who might make good roommates, or I could get a modest place, on my own. It would cost me in rent, but home was still right there, and dinner on Sunday nights. I started to get excited about buying new dishes and setting up my very own kitchen.
When I climbed into bed to go to sleep, I could have sworn I could still smell Trevor on the sheets, then I realized I hadn't showered, and I was just smelling him on me.
I got up, had a shower, and cried some more.
Part 4: A Legend in the Office
On Tuesday, people kept casually dropping by my desk to chat. I finally figured out that some of the techies had passed along word that I'd been touring around a big, handsome man, and he'd had his hands all over me. People had spotted us kissing.
Everyone at the office was so excited for me that I couldn't break their hearts and tell them it was over, that it had been wonderful, but now it was done. I smiled and said, “We're just friends. He's getting out of a long-term relationship, so I'm taking it slow and giving him time and space.”
As I said the positive words and smiled, it had a healing effect on my heart and soul. I believed it. We were friends. Nothing terrible had happened, just a few omissions of the truth.
So he had his ex-wife staying at his house for some flimsy reason. She probably hea
rd he was seeing someone new and realized what a terrible mistake she'd made. I couldn't blame the woman, not really. Trevor was a great catch.
I thought about that expression, about loving something, setting it free, and having it come back to you. If Trevor came back to me, it would mean something.
He didn't call me on Tuesday.
Every break I took, I whipped out my phone and re-read his sexy text messages from Monday, enjoying the pleasant memories.
I made some photocopies, just to spend time near the machine, to reminisce.
He didn't call Wednesday or Friday or any of the other days that end in y.
He didn't text, either.
On the weekend, I confessed everything to Nikki, because she was asking a lot of questions—just to me, because Trevor point-blank told her he wouldn't discuss his personal life with her.
She hugged me, apologized, and promised to either never set me up again, or at least to do a better job the next time.
The next week, seven days after I'd brought Trevor to my office and had sex with him in my cubicle and on the photocopier, my work friend Chad (the gay one … I mean, one of the gay ones) told me he'd treat me to lunch.
We went to the cafe up the street and sat inside, near the fireplace. It was October now, and sitting on the sidewalk in the summer sun was a distant memory.
Chad's a coffee addict like me, so we were both enjoying lattes before our grilled sandwiches and soup came.
I said, “What's up? You have a devilish smile.”
“Oh, honey, that's just my face. It always looks like this,” he said, his grin even more devilish.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
He acted shy, with a hand over his face. “I called someone for a second date. And then we had a third.”
“I'm so happy for you!”
“Thanks,” he said, and then he spilled some more details. The guy had been a casual hook-up, from the gym, but they'd enjoyed each other's company beyond the sex, and things were progressing.
I said, “Soon you'll get a dog together.”
“Let's not rush,” Chad said, beaming. He turned serious, saying, “Now, what's up with you and your big hunky man? It sounded to me like you guys really enjoyed each other's company.”
“I don't know,” I said, trying to push him off with a white lie.
Chad grabbed my hand across the table. “Naomi. Really. The photocopier?”
Time stood still around me and the shock washed over me. “What are you talking about?” My heart was beating rapidly, pounding in my chest. Did people know? Were there security cameras? Was that why everyone had been staring at me?
Chad's grin turned devilish again. “Don't panic! Nobody else knows but me. Little old me, who was all alone in the dark office, working on some spreadsheets.”
“Oh, Chad. You were there? You saw … everything?”
“I was in my cubicle, and I only popped my head up a few times, so, no, I didn't see everything. Though I must confess I did take a good look at the man's ass when he was, how-you-say, refilling the photocopier toner.”
I crushed both of my hands into my face. “Oh, Chad. I'm horrified. Just horrified.”
“Don't sweat it! Do you know how many people will go their whole lives and not do anything that fun? You sounded like you were having a good time. Really good. I think it would be frowned upon, in general, by the company, but we do work in the theater. I think most people would understand. Love is sacred and it supersedes everything. Our bodies are designed to give and receive pleasure.”
“Thanks.” I rubbed my face to avoid eye contact.
The waiter arrived with our meals, hot and fragrant. I had pumpkin soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.
I confessed everything to Chad, telling him I'd broke it off with Trevor, because he'd lied to me, by omitting the detail about his ex-wife living with him.
Chad listened, nodding and sampling his soup.
Finally, he said, “Naomi, don't be stupid.”
His words stung, and I recoiled, hurt.
He saw my face and quickly added, “I mean, don't be like me when I'm stupid. I'm the stupid one, so I should know. You need to get over these little bumps, these hiccups.”
“Hiccups?”
“You need to call that big sexy man up and tell him you need your photocopier toner refilled.”
“You mean sext him? A text message asking for sex? Shouldn't I just call him and ask him how he is?”
“You said he doesn't like to talk about his feelings. So, how do you think he'll feel getting that text?”
“Stressed.”
“Okay, so why not take the middle line. You don't have to be so forward and tell him you want his big cock inside you, reaming you, churning your buttercream—”
“Chad!” I blushed and fanned my face. I mean, I did want Trevor's big cock inside me, reaming me, but I didn't want to talk about it in the middle of a cafe I had lunch at regularly.
“Send him something light and flirty. Something that says you think he's great.”
“Uh ...”
Chad reached for my phone, which was on the table, and raised an eyebrow at me. “May I?”
“Send him a text message from me?” I thought about it for a moment. It had been a week since I'd seen Trevor, and checking in wouldn't be inappropriate. “Sure, go for it. But no reaming talk. Not like that.”
Chad tapped away, smiling, then frowning, deliberating.
A few minutes later, I said, “What are you typing, War and Peace?”
He handed me back the phone. The message had already been sent to Trevor. I had thought Chad would compose the message for my approval, and I'd send it, but it was already gone.
But … I couldn't have done it better myself, really.
The text message simply read:
Hey, big guy. What are you wearing?
I set the phone on the table and we finished our lunch, both of us glancing over at the phone, waiting for Trevor to respond.
He didn't.
By Friday, I'd almost forgot all about Trevor. And by almost, I mean I'd stopped thinking about him for hours at a time, sometimes as long as three hours.
I was surprised when, at midnight Friday night, I got a text message from him.
It read: Hey, why donit you come ovar? (The two spelling mistakes should have been my first clue it was a drunk text.)
He sent me three more messages, each more insistent than the last, and his address.
I turned off my phone and climbed into my bed, with the grown-up, white sheets.
After a few minutes, I started to imagine what might happen if I went to his house. I remembered my first visit there, when he'd picked me up in the foyer and set my bum on a side table while he'd rubbed his bulge into my crotch, through my tights.
And then, later in his bedroom, on that magnificent King-sized bed. We locked together in reverse, with me on top and his dick in my mouth, my pussy in his, fitting together perfectly, giving and receiving pleasure simultaneously.
The heat between my legs grew more insistent. The house was quiet, and my door was shut, so I slipped one hand down under the covers and rubbed myself through my panties. It felt good to be touched, to be massaged.
I pushed the other hand down there, inside my panties, and wiggled my fingers around to get them wet. I pulsed my clit, fast then slow, thinking about Trevor. Nailing me in the show suite, on the dresser, as strangers were milling around downstairs. Trevor. Fingering me on my own desk, in my office, where I work, and making me come.
Unfortunately, my hands didn't have that same magic his did, and I couldn't get off. I rolled onto my stomach, driving my mound harder and harder into my fingers, but it only started to sting and not feel good. There was nothing I could do to give me the satisfaction I craved, so I rolled out of bed, threw on some clothes from the floor, and crept out of the house.
“This is crazy,” I told myself as I drove into the half-circle driveway that looped at t
he front of Trevor's huge house in the suburbs. “I should go home.”
Instead, I parked the car and walked up to his front door.
I didn't ring the doorbell, because the lights were out and I wasn't sure if his ex-wife was still staying at the house or not. I did not want to see her, not tonight, not with me in my sweatpants, there in the middle of the night for a booty call, of all the things.
I had texted Trevor when I got in my car, so he knew I was coming, and I texted him again.
Two long minutes later, he opened the door.
Completely naked.
With a semi-firm erection.
He threw the door open wide, for anyone to see, and said, “Naomi! You came over!”
“You're drunk.”
“I had a few.” He waved me in.
I came in, feeling both uncomfortable and a little excited. As he grabbed me and kissed me roughly, his penis got even more firm, pressing into my stomach. I grabbed his shaft with my hand and squeezed it. Oh, yeah, that was what I wanted.
He said, “You want some wine? You have to catch up with me. Come to my room! I have wine!”
“I bet you do.” I glanced around, annoyed to see women's shoes strewn about the foyer. His ex-wife. And where was she at the moment? In bed? Had she been responsible for his drunken state?
Trevor tried to pick me up, but I told him I didn't feel safe going up the stairs in his arms when he was inebriated.
“I'm not,” he pointed a finger at me, a wavering finger, “I'm not ineb-eb-eb-ated.”
I smacked him on the ass and said, “Let's see if you can still fuck when you're drunk.”
He gasped, his mouth making an exaggerated O shape. “Naomi! You are talking so dirty. I like you.” He nuzzled my hair and tried to kiss me.
I grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs.
True to his word, Trevor did have wine in his room. And beer. And scotch.
I didn't want to be stone-cold sober while he was having so much fun, so I poured a few glugs of scotch into a glass and tossed it back. And then again.
The scotch in my stomach radiated with warmth, filling me with golden light. I was starting to like scotch.
