by Aj Harmon
A small bead of sweat dripped from my brow and I opened my eyes as I lifted off him and fell to the mattress at his side.
“Thanks,” I mumbled as I steadied my breathing.
“Mmm, yeah, you too.”
Two seconds later, Brett rolled over and walked to the bathroom, the door pushed closed behind him. I pulled the throw blanket, that was on the end of the bed, over me, noticing that the air in the room was chilly. The door opened and Brett stepped back into the room.
“So, thanks,” he shrugged, and turned and walked back the way he’d come.
I heard him dress and then the front door open and close. I smiled, thrilled I had picked the right guy. NO strings – just the way I wanted it.
~two years later ~
I like sleeping alone. I like waking up alone. I like showering alone. I like living alone. I am my own master. I do what I want when I want.
Saturdays are when I do all my “chores.” I shouldn’t call them that because I love every minute of it. I strip my bed and put on clean sheets, washing the dirty ones and putting them in the linen closet, ready for the next time a guest leaves, and I strip the bed again. I thoroughly clean the bathroom, and even though it’s not a favorite pastime, I love soaking in the tub so I like it to be spotless.
I clean my condo. It’s not big so it doesn’t take long, and I don’t have a lot of clutter, so it goes pretty fast. And while I’m vacuuming and dusting, I do laundry. I try to be efficient wherever I can.
I do my grocery shopping in the afternoon and then I prepare lunches to take to work. I spend a fair amount of money at the bar after work, so taking my lunch is how I balance my budget. And I need the bar – lunch is not a priority.
Saturday evenings are for the girls. We go to dinner and a movie, or hang out at one of our homes and order in Chinese. We drink wine and eat chocolate and laugh and giggle, talk about men and sex, and generally have a wonderful time. I love Saturday evenings with my besties.
Sundays are for me. I go shopping or to a spa. I sleep in or go for a run. I eat what I want when I want. I lounge and do nothing all day, or I leave first thing in the morning and come back late at night. Again, it’s all about me!
My brother, Josh, thinks I’m a tad selfish and self-centered. Probably. It doesn’t bother me if I am. It’s my life and I get to live it as I see fit. He thinks I should settle down… that a woman my age should be thinking about having children and a home and a husband to pamper. I say fuck that.
I’m thirty-one – not old. I’ve focused on my career to get to where I am in the company I work for. I have seniority and responsibility, and I do my job well. I get paid well enough to enjoy a comfortable lifestyle. I can buy clothes and a car and I can sit in the bar down the street from my office a couple of nights a week and enjoy random sex with strangers. If that’s considered selfish, I’m fine with it!
Yet, when Monday evening came and I sat in the bar, I felt… nothing. There was no anticipation or thrill at the idea of finding a sex god and letting him rock my world. In fact, I could barely focus on the men as my eyes wandered around the room.
“What are you drinking tonight?” the bartender asked.
I’ve been coming to this same place for a couple of years now and I still didn’t know the name of the guy who usually took my drink order.
“Dirty Shirley,” I replied. “Easy on the grenadine.”
“You got it,” he smiled.
He had a nice smile. The contrast of his white teeth against the neat trimmed dark beard was pleasant to look at. I smiled back and watched him make my drink. His fingers were long and his nails manicured. There was just one ring on his hands – on his left pinky finger – a simple gold band. Interesting.
He placed my drink on a white paper napkin in front of me and scurried off to attend to another customer. I placed my lips around the tiny black straw and sucked and kept sucking until there was nothing left in my glass except for the hard chunks of ice. I swiveled around on the barstool and let my eyes take in the scenery once again.
I’m not a girl who keeps count of her conquests. I don’t have a little black book, nor do I have notches on my bed posts. If I am asked for the number of sexual partners I’ve had, I always give the same reply. Not enough! I mean, come on. Are we made for monogamy? The idea seems so boring and restrictive. No strings. No awkward exchange of phone numbers. No relationship to go south once the spark is gone. I like it this way.
I am, however, at an age when my weekends are often booked with weddings. Not mine, thank God, but friends who have found the theoretical perfect partner for them and they are over the moon in love. Insert graphic here of me sticking my finger down my throat. I mean, really? Ick. I love my life and I have no regrets... yet.
My eyes continued to roam the room. Sadly, I was going to have to settle, or go home alone. I had an itch, and Mr. Dick wasn’t going to cut it. I needed to be ravaged... mauled… taken by a brute. Monday is not the best day to find a ravager. Fuck!
“Can I get you another one?”
I turned back to the bar. He was smiling. Why have I never noticed him before?
“Yep.” I pushed my empty glass towards him. “I’m Jill, by the way.”
“I know,” he chuckled.
“You do?” I was taken aback.
“You often pay with your credit card,” he grinned.
“Ah.”
“Jack.”
“Thanks, Jack.” He handed me another drink and placed a new napkin on the bar.
“Nothing catching your fancy tonight?”
What the fuck?
“We are pretty slow tonight.”
Fuck!
“I’m off in an hour though.”
SHIT! “Are you offering yourself up to me?”
“I don’t have plans,” he shrugged with a grin.
There was a glimmer in his eye. I would fuck him in a heartbeat, but I wasn’t sure if he was being serious.
“I dunno,” I purred. “I like it rough.”
“So do I.”
There was no grin now. His eyes had turned steely grey and his jaw was firm as he stared through me. A shiver raced up my spine and I felt my cheeks warm as my heart began to pound against my ribs. Well, damn.
It was like the game we played as kids – the first to blink lost, and I wasn’t about to lose. A customer a couple of seats down rescued me, and Jack slowly turned his eyes from me and walked away.
FUCK! I threw a twenty-dollar bill down and escaped before my pussy leaked all over the stool.
I didn’t use Mr. Dick that night. I woke up in the middle of the night in a pool of sweat and my fingers rubbing my clit as I came. I’d dreamed of him… of Jack. It was the best fucking dream I’d had in a very long time.
*****
I stayed away from the bar all week. I put in some overtime, helped my mom with some gardening after work (yes – she was equally shocked), and went shopping for another wedding gift rather than ordering online. I was desperate to fill my time with anything to keep me from walking into the bar and seeing Jack. I was still unnerved from our three second conversation.
On Friday evening, I put on some workout clothes and headed down to the ground floor and the gym for residents of the building. It was raining outside so I decided to use a treadmill. As I opened the door, I was relieved to have the gym all to myself. I put in my earbuds, clicked my workout station on Pandora, turned the volume up way too high, and stepped onto the machine.
While I don’t necessarily enjoy exercising, I love the feel of my feet pounding with each step as I run. As my body uses my muscles to make me move, I love to place my hands on my thighs, my stomach, and feel the stretching and twisting with each movement. I like how it makes me feel strong and invincible.
After an hour, I’m done… exhausted. I slowed down to a walk to cool off as I used a towel to wipe the dripping sweat from my body. Then, I stepped off the machine and yanked the earbuds from my ears.
He was
leaning against the wall, arms folded across his massive chest, biceps bulging, a hint of an appreciative smile on his lips.
“Have you been watching me?” I ask, brows raised.
“I sure have. Your ass looks great as you run.”
Well, fuck.
“Thanks. It’s why I run… to keep my ass looking good,” I added.
“It’s working.”
“Do you live in the building?”
“No,” he shook his head. “I’m in town for my sister’s wedding. Just here at my mom’s for a few days.”
“Nice.” I walked towards him as I spoke the simple single syllable. “I might see you around then.” And I walked out, chastising myself as I rode the elevator up to my floor. I should have fucked him right there on the treadmill.
*****
I dressed simply. There’s an unspoken rule that eligible females not outshine the bride on her special day. I adhered to the rule even though I think it’s stupid. She’s already snagged a guy. Why should it matter what I wear? I wore silver… strapless… above the knee. I love summer weddings for that reason. I can dress skimpy and not be judged. Well, that’s not true. Women can be catty bitches, so there is always going to be some cunt talking shit about me, but I learned a long time ago to not give a fuck. I just tell myself that they are jealous.
And they should be. I work damn hard so I can wear bikinis. I visit the salon every week to keep a light tan on my skin. So, when the opportunity arises, I work it like a boss. And all my single girlfriends do the same.
I got a taxi to the country club. There was an open bar so there was no point in driving to the wedding when I knew I would not be able to drive home. I waited in the small garden for the girls to arrive. There was a small wrought iron bench that I made use of and played solitaire on my phone until my girls arrived. Then we turned heads as we made our entrance into the club.
There are three kinds of older men in my opinion; the Pierce Brosnan type, who are still extremely good-looking and I’d fuck in a heartbeat, grey hair and all; the creepy old man that looks like a perv that is on the sex offenders list; and the man that a woman just doesn’t even notice – they blend right into the decor. The country club had all three in large number, and four single women in their prime caught their attention. There were a couple of whistles and plenty of ogling, but we ran the gauntlet like the pros we were and strutted straight through to the patio where the ceremony would take place. If I didn’t hook up at the reception, there were most definitely a couple of Pierce Brosnan options at the bar. And I’d do Pierce Brosnan in a heartbeat.
We found an empty row of chairs and sat down. There was only a few minutes before the ceremony was to begin so we chatted quietly until the processional music drifted through the air. Fortunately for the bridesmaids, the dresses were pretty – a soft teal – and they carried simple, yet elegant bouquets wrapped in white ribbon. I was too busy studying the flowers to notice the groomsmen accompanying the women.
“Damn!”
“He’s hot.”
I glanced over at my friends all but drooling. I followed their eyes and mine came to rest on the man they were ogling. I knew him. I’d spoken to him. It was the guy from the gym. He’d said he was in town for his sister’s wedding.
“I’ll be damned,” I muttered as we all stood in preparation for the bride’s entrance. Maybe the wedding would be fun after all.
I’m sure the vows were nice. I’m sure many people cried. I didn’t. I wasn’t paying any attention. My eyes were focused on him.
Once the bridal party had left the room the way they’d entered, the guests stood and began mingling and headed for the open bar outside on the patio. With a glass of white wine in my hand, I searched the faces of the crowd but I couldn’t find him. And then I felt a hand on the small of my back.
“Hey,” he whispered into my ear. “Fancy seeing you here.”
I swung around to face him. “Hey.”
“Are you following me?” he grinned.
“In your dreams,” I sassed back.
“Most definitely.”
Hmmm. I smiled and fluttered my eyelashes. This was going to be easy.
“My name’s Jill.” I offered my hand.
He took it and didn’t let go. “Tank.”
“Tank? That’s your name?”
“My official name is Jessie, but since I joined the Marines, everyone has called me Tank.”
My eyes lazily drank all of him in. He was taller than me, roughly six feet, I would guess. Knowing he was a Marine explained the buzzed haircut. As my hand rested in his, I noticed how huge his hands were. His biceps were the size of my thighs. If his cock matched the rest of him, I was going to be one very happy woman.
“So, Tank, Jade is your sister?”
“Yep,” he nodded. “And my mom lives in your building apparently.”
“Apparently.”
“Wanna get out of here?”
He was more anxious than me! “Don’t you need to stay for the toast? At least?”
“Fuck, yeah.” He still held my hand but with his other hand he rubbed the top of his head. “Promise me you won’t leave without me?”
“Oh, that’s an easy promise to make,” I purred.
“Stay where I can see you.”
Eyes wide, I looked up at him. “I don’t take well to orders.”
“Just a request then.”
I smiled, retrieved my hand, and strutted back to where my girlfriends stood watching our conversation with interest.
“Yeah,” I nodded as I approached them. “I’ll be fucking him tonight.”
*****
Tank removed my panties in the back of the Uber. If the driver knew what was going on, he didn’t say a word.
By the time we got to my front door, Tank’s trouser zipper looked like it was going to rip open like Bruce Banner’s clothes when he morphs into The Hulk. My clit was throbbing to the point I could barely see to get the key in the lock. I fumbled with it for an eternity before eventually getting the door open and we all but tumbled inside.
Clothes ripped and were thrown about the living room and I finally got a look at his cock.
“Oh, fuck me,” I muttered with disappointment.
“With pleasure,” he grunted and hoisted me up and pressed me against the back of the door.
His cock was of average length but had no girth to it at all. An anorexic cock is what it was. I bounced up and down as Tank did his thing, receiving little pleasure from it. I mean, I could barely feel anything.
“Are you gonna go?” he asked about thirty seconds after he started.
“Uh, no. Just do your thing.”
“Oh, come on baby,” he pleaded. “Come for daddy.”
Oh, dear God. “I’m not your baby and you are definitely not my daddy,” I squirmed with irritation.
Miraculously, I felt him squirt his juice into the condom and sigh in relief. I followed suit with a deep sigh of my own, thrilled the torment was over. So much hope for an amazing fuck and I got this!
With unexpected gentleness, Tank lowered me to feet, again, the expectation of an amazing night crashed into a million pieces.
“That was so good,” he whispered as he kissed me on the cheek.
“Bathroom is right through there,” I pointed down the short hallway.
Tank took his cue and backed away from me. I leaned my head back on the door with a thud. I wouldn’t even need Mr. Dick. The throbbing desire was long gone and all I wanted was a shower. By the time Tank returned, I handed him his clothes that I’d gathered from the floor and he understood in an instant that I wanted him gone.
“You know,” he said, as he put on his shoes a minute later. “I’ll be here with Mom for a couple more days. Maybe we could see each other again?”
“I’m busy,” I shot back.
“Well, I’m not. I can work around your schedule.”
“Mmm, maybe,” I muttered. I opened the door and waited for him to stand up.
He tried to kiss me on the way out but I turned my head and he got my cheek. “Night,” I said as I closed the door and locked it quickly.
*****
“You’re shitting us.”
“I’m not,” I exclaimed and held up my pinky finger. “It was seriously not much wider than this.”
“Fuck!”
I shrugged and frowned. “You would never tell from his biceps that he had teeny peeny.” My girlfriends were sufficiently horrified at my description of Tank’s manhood, although completely shocked. “Enough about Tank,” I pleaded. “Let’s talk about something pleasant, like a root canal,” I snickered.
An hour later, we parted ways after enjoying a delicious Sunday brunch. We didn’t often get together on Sunday morning, but it was Gina’s birthday, so we had surprised her with a champagne brunch at a quaint little tea shop and had each chipped in to get her a gift certificate to one of her favorite outrageously expensive department stores.
I hurried home to my chores. I washed and scrubbed and cleaned and enjoyed every minute of it. My favorite music station played through the surround sound speakers and I danced and sang as I dusted and vacuumed. I put my favorite set of sheets on my bed. They were the softest sheets I had ever known, and they made me want to shave my legs just so I could have that exquisite feeling of getting into bed every night. I piled the made bed high with prettily decorated pillows and stepped back to admire my work. There was a light lemon scent in the air as I folded the last of my clothes that were still warm from the dryer.
With my chores done, I spent the rest of the evening eating Chinese food I’d had delivered, and watching reruns of the Mary Tyler Moore show. With the exception of experiencing Tank’s petite prick, it had been a damn near perfect weekend.
Sneak Peek at Volume Two
