by C. C. Morian
If Richard could have his fantasy, so could she. Her fantasy about Vern, or Marcus. Her fantasy about one man, giving it all to her, giving her love and safety and protection and support and unbelievable, insane sex.
Maybe Julie was right after all. What could be wrong with a little fantasy? Or even a big one?
Her eyes still closed, she shimmied up onto him, guiding him into her. She needed this, she needed a cock inside her.
She rode him hard; but if this were Vern he’d be on top. She imagined Vern below her, letting her get started, and any minute he’d flip her over, having his way with her. Just the thought of it drove her crazy, she leaned forward, using his shaft to drive up and down on her clit.
For this moment, it was all coming together, a man inside her, a different man in her head. If this is what it took to satisfy each of them, maybe things weren’t so bad.
Melissa felt Richard stiffen, he was close, she was doing it for him, this was her doing, it didn’t matter he was in a fantasy, he was thinking of her. That’s all that mattered.
She had her husband back.
Or did she? Because it wasn’t Richard she was thinking about as he started to cum inside her, it was Vern, it was Vern’s cum shooting into her pussy, and he knew she was married and didn’t care.
And in that instant, neither did she.
Chapter 12
Wednesday. Melissa usually tried to work at home one day during the week, she often got more done without the constant interruptions in the office. She rushed through her emails, made a few calls, then settled in to start a new presentation.
A hour into it, she had accomplished nothing. Her mind kept slipping to the night before, to everything going on with Richard. She should have been on cloud nine. The one thing she had been complaining about, the one thing keeping her marriage from being perfect, had been the lack of sex. Yet she’d had more sex in the last few weeks than she’d had in months.
So why wasn’t she happy?
Was it simply that Richard seemed to need a fantasy to get aroused? She suspected that a lot of men—and women—fantasized about someone else when having sex. Maybe they just weren’t honest about it. Maybe if Richard had just kept his fantasies to himself.
But that didn’t explain her excitement, why she was getting so aroused thinking about other men. To be fair, she had fantasized about Marcus before, even while with Richard. She had always rationalized that; she thought she was forced to do it because she wasn’t getting exactly what she wanted in her married sex.
But that was crazy, a cheap rationalization. What she fantasized about was her decision, a conscious one. She should be able to just stop.
What had Richard said? He couldn’t get it out of his head. Like right now, she couldn’t shake this line of thought.
She pushed her laptop aside and decided to go for a run. That always helped. It would also give her a chance to explore the neighborhood some more, get to know her way around. She pulled on an old pair of tights and a loose long sleeve tee shirt. She thought about swapping to a sports bra, decided it didn’t matter; she didn’t have enough on top to really jump around anyway. The bra she had on was fine. A little sweat wouldn’t kill it.
She tied her hair back in a rough pony tail and slipped the house key into her pocket. It was cool as she jogged down the drive but the run would warm her up. Instead of heading the way she usually drove to work, she made her way deeper into the development. It was larger than she had thought, the housing styles changing as she ran. Melissa realized it was actually a series of developments, or perhaps one large community that had been built in different phases.
Soon she had worked up quite a sweat. She felt better. This is what she needed, getting her body amped up, her endorphins flowing. Someone once said that exercise was better than sex. That certainly wasn’t true, or at least it wasn’t better than great sex. She wondered if whoever had said that about exercise had been in a marriage without great sex.
Melissa let her mind drift as she ran. She needed to think it all through from scratch, not react to last night, but put it in perspective.
Her life seemed to be at both a standstill and a changing point. On one hand it looked like things were changing; the new house, the new car, more money. But that was a mirage, everything was still the same, except she was just surrounded by different things. She still had Richard, and that was good. But nothing was changing there, there was no growing, no real passion. Is this the price she would have to pay for stability and possessions, to never feel true passion? Was love without passion really love?
On the other hand, something had been rekindled in their love life at least. Richard’s newly found interest in sex, driven by his hard to fathom, but very real, fantasies about her with other men. Was that another price she would have to pay for better sex? Or was that a mirage too, just like the fantasies, never to turn into the reality of a deeper physical bond?
At a cross street she hesitated, jogging in place. She had run farther than she had thought.
She turned left, thinking she would turn left again at the next cross street, and start making her way back. Her tee shirt stuck to her skin and she was getting thirsty. But no cross street to the left appeared; she seemed to be on a long approach road to another development. Just as she was about to turn around she saw a sign that said, ‘The Oaks.’ Where had she heard that before?
The developments seemed to go on forever. This one spread out off to the left, in the direction she wanted to go, so she jogged in through the gates. The entrance drive didn’t have a sidewalk and Melissa was forced to run in the street. But in the middle of the day not many cars were around, everyone was off at work.
Where was she, exactly? She wasn’t sure. But she had a pretty good sense of direction and felt confident she could at least find the community center again. From there getting home would be easy.
The community center. That’s where she had heard about this development. One of the college kids had mentioned it. What had he said?
Vern. This is where Vern lived. The biker. The one who was—what had the kid said? Living with? Shacking up? No, that wasn’t it. He had said ‘banging.’ He had tried to stop himself, thinking Melissa would be upset. Vern was living around here with some woman. Melissa pictured a hot divorcee with platinum hair and silicone boobs, letting Vern live with her for free in exchange for a little time in the sack.
Melissa had a sudden image of Vern with a woman on his bike, her arms wrapped around him, holding on for her life as he sped along the highway. The woman had no idea where he was taking her, she didn’t care, she was lost in the feeling, the wind, the leather, holding on, completely in his power. Melissa could hear the roar of the motorcycle. . .
The roar of the motorcycle. Just ahead. Not in her fantasy, but right in front of her. Like a mirage in the desert, a sweltering vision forcing its way through the sweat in her eyes. There was a black motorcycle, a streamlined cruiser, pulling out of a driveway a few blocks ahead. It headed right for her.
It couldn’t be, she thought.
But it was. As soon as it turned out of the driveway, Melissa recognized him. She could tell even from this distance. His dark hair, something about the way he handled the bike.
Her first thought was that she looked like shit, she didn’t want Vern to see her like this, her hair frizzy and pulled back, covered in sweat. She thought about turning the other way. About. . .
How stupid. Vern had no idea who she was. Just some jogger. And why should she care what she looked like for him?
But she turned her head away from the road as he approached. Melissa couldn’t know for sure that Vern was looking at her, but she could feel it, his eyes, just as she had at the pool, when she thought he was checking her out. When she had been hoping he was checking her out.
There. He was passing her. She kept her eyes away, her heart pounding from more than just her run. Would he slow down as he went by?
The bike roared past.
> Relief. And something else, just a tinge of regret.
Not for him, she hadn’t even met him, hadn’t spoken to him. But for what he represented, something wild, something forbidden. Something rough and bad.
She realized then, in the clarity of the moment, that this was what was missing from her life, the risk, the unknown. That is what really thrilled her, what had wound her up about some of the men in her past, about Marcus, about men she knew were no good for her. Or were not the kind of men she should be married to.
Melissa laughed as she ran, this sudden inspiration both a sorrow and a joy, a sorrow for what she had given up, a joy for realizing how simple the explanation was, and how foolish it was to think she could have it all. Obviously you couldn’t have stability and danger, the good and the bad. And because it was impossible, it was not something to fret over.
The motorcycle rumbled behind her. Melissa increased her pace, running away from all it represented, the past, the risks, the danger. Toward the stability of home. It would be so easy to see everything in a new light.
The motorcycle idled, probably at the crossroad, humming behind her, in her past. Then the engine revved, but instead of the sound fading away it grew louder.
He was coming back.
It wasn’t going to be easy, after all.
Chapter 13
Melissa kept running, even faster now, forcing herself not to turn around. He probably just forgot something, she thought. She imagined him pissed, having to go back to the house, he wouldn’t be looking at her, he wouldn’t be staring at her ass in the tight runner’s shorts, he wouldn’t be coming for her.
She moved to the side of the road, as far as she could go, expecting the bike to go zooming by. Instead it slowed, she couldn’t help but look now, it was right next to her, closer than it should have been.
Vern stuck out his left leg, his boot sliding along the road, bringing him around in a turn. Melissa caught a glimpse of his face, locked on hers, not paying attention to where he was going, or so confident in his riding that he didn’t feel he had to. The bike was now coming at her, forcing her to slow, and Vern ran it right along the side of the road, so close Melissa thought he was going to run her down.
She yelped, veering into the street, and Vern sliced past, but then was turning again, coming back from the other side. She stopped dead in her tracks, frozen, as he circled her three times, like a pack of wolves circling its prey, a pack of wolves all wrapped up in one man.
Finally he stopped the bike in front of her, the engine a low growl, pent up, threatening. Melissa was breathing hard, and not from the run.
Vern looked her unabashedly up and down, talking her in, like he was sizing up a piece of meat. She stared at him, not as defiantly as she wanted to, her fear still overriding her anger.
“What do you want?” he demanded. His voice was like the powerful bike, low, not loud, but hinting at untamed power.
It took Melissa a moment to recover. “I don’t want anything. What do you want? You almost ran me down.”
He ignored her question, his eyes darkening. “What are you doing way over here? Looking for where I live?”
“I’m just jogging. Does that tight leather cut off the circulation to your brain? What does it look like I’m doing?”
He smirked, then reached down to turn off the bike. In the stillness Melissa wondered if Vern could hear her heart beating. He lazily got off the bike, snapping down the kickstand, and turned to face her. His thick leather riding jacket hung open, giving her a glimpse of a form fitting tee underneath. Part of a tattoo poked up from behind the shirt, on the side of his neck, Melissa couldn’t tell what it was, the head of some bird or animal. A wolf? Or a hawk? He wore a well broken in pair of riding chaps, the leather flexed firmly against his legs, the black calfskin ending near the top of his thighs, highlighting his crotch, drawing her eyes against her will to the gap in the leather, revealing his tight jeans.
“So you came to check out my leather instead of where I lived? Is that your story?” His voice was so flat she couldn’t tell if he was angry or actually interested. Or just smug.
“I didn’t come to check out where you lived,” she repeated.
“My leather it is then,” he said, spreading his legs a little, opening up his jacket. Then, with a sly smile, gesturing to his chaps.
So smug it was.
Melissa had involuntarily followed the movement of his hands, looking at his jacket as he held it open, she was close enough to smell the leather, and then her eyes were pulled down with his gesture, toward his waist, his crotch. . .
She snapped her head up. Vern held her eye for a moment, freezing her, and then he ran his eyes up and down her body, shamelessly, taking her all in, doing more than visually undressing her. He was appraising her.
Melissa couldn’t move; it was as if she was held in a spider web, and she had no energy to flee, and yet her heart still pounded with energy, giving her hope that she could get free.
And in the back of her mind, her primal devil, hissing at her, chastising her for not looking her best, tempting her to do something appealing, so she would not be ignored and left behind by the alpha male.
Before she had a chance to do anything, Vern shrugged and said dismissively, “I like bigger tits.”
Melissa was stunned. No one had ever spoken to her that way, so rudely, so flippantly. “I thought you might,” she spat.
“So you’ve been thinking of me, haven’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
Melissa’s first reaction was to deny it, realizing immediately that he wouldn’t believe her, he was that sure of himself. Instead she found herself saying, “My tits are fine.” Her voice was hot with anger, an intensity she didn’t know she had, especially about her breasts.
Vern had turned the bike around, he had come for her, and now he was threatening the fantasy that she had allowed herself to glimpse, the fantasy of a mysterious, dangerous man. A dangerous man who wanted her.
He shrugged again. “Maybe. You do have nice nipples.”
Melissa didn’t have to glance down to know that they were showing, her thin bra doing nothing to hide her arousal, the soaking tee shirt tight against her breasts.
“You’re an asshole,” she said harshly, the words a challenge.
Vern’s head snapped up, a little surprised maybe. His lip curled. “You’ve got a mouth on you.” He gave her that confident smirk again. “I like that. A good mouth. That could make up for the tits, if you could do something else with your lips than talk.”
“Are you drunk? Or do you always talk to strange women this way?” Melissa turned to go, surprisingly dismayed. Was this the man she had been fantasizing about? The reality was a letdown, a disastrous crash.
“I know all about you.”
That spun her around. “Have you been stalking me?”
“I know your type,” he said.
“My type?” Pissed as she was, Melissa couldn’t help but be a bit intrigued. What type was she?
“You’re all the same. You want the tough guy, but hate it when he doesn’t fit your perfect definition of tough. Someone who’ll play by your rules. Be rough but not really too rough. Be a real man but have some place inside that you can tame.” Vern’s voice was filled with disdain. “I don’t need you.”
“I don’t need you either,” said Melissa, her mind speaking now, but her body, so help her, still craving him.
“Don’t you? You need something. This isn’t the first time some bored housewife came on to me. Wanting something on the side, something she can’t get at home.” Vern gave her another head to toe examination, his eyes lingering on her legs and her chest. “Although most of them try to look a little better when they do.”
There were so many things Melissa could have said to all of that, but she wasn’t thinking straight, and no matter how much of a jerk he was she couldn’t deny his animalistic attraction. He didn’t seem to care whether she liked him or not, and for some reason this made her
want to earn his interest, his desire.
“Housewife? Is that what you see?”
“Whatever. Someone bored. Needing some excitement.”
“Is that what you think you do? Make housewives happy?”
“If I want them,” he said. “I don’t care if they want what I want.” He looked like he was going to turn away, dismiss her.
Melissa wasn’t ready to let this go. “And you can draw all those conclusions just by looking at someone? I’m not so simple.”
“Neither am I,” he said. “Are you telling me you didn’t draw some conclusions about me? Because of the way I’m dressed? Because I’m on a bike? The way you acted when I called you a housewife. You too good for housewives? Are they beneath you too?” He sounded like he didn’t want to have this conversation, or had maybe had it too many times.
Melissa almost apologized. She had done that. Categorized him. Generalized about housewives, and about him. Not thinking he was some kind of simpleton, as he might be expecting, but that he might be someone dangerous. And to her, that meant someone sexy.
But he had certainly been offensive. She wouldn’t repeat her mistake, but she wouldn’t apologize. He didn’t deserve it. “I have all the excitement I need,” she said.
Vern snickered. “Really? I saw you checking me out. At the pool last week.”
So he had noticed her. And had seen her looking at him. She parried. “You’re pretty full of yourself.”
“The women love it,” he said. “That’s what does it for you too, doesn’t it? A man who doesn’t care what you want? Who takes whatever he wants?”
Vern took a step toward her, in her space now. Melissa wanted to back away, she should have backed away, even involuntarily, but she couldn’t. He was like a magnet, drawing her to him, the same way she had unconsciously been pulled to him at the pool.
