Big Spankable Asses

by Lisa G Riley

  Actually, I didn’t think that anyone would ever figure it out, but now that you have, let’s do meet.

  Now she figured she’d just plunge right in. If she didn’t, she knew herself well enough to know that she wouldn’t do it at all. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”

  Shall we meet for coffee or something? Tell me your name and describe what you look like—maybe you could send a photo—so I’ll know who I’m meeting. Does that work for you? Let me know when you’re available.

  P.S. Thank you for your compliments. I like your sense of humor as well. But know this, Smart Guy: I read your fine print. Twice. I’m on to you big time. Don’t be so sure that there will even be anything more than a first date.

  “Take that, Smart Guy,” she muttered, and pressed send. She tried once again to get comfortable in the chair, and deciding she didn’t have anything better to do for a little while but wait for a response, she began reading the news headlines on the Web site.

  Nick laughed out loud as he finished reading her e-mail. He, too, was at home for the day. It had taken all of his willpower not to call her after what had happened in the clinic. But he kept recalling the panic he’d heard in her voice and that had been enough to keep him from calling. She needed some space, and he didn’t want to scare her any more than he already had, the poor baby. He’d been somewhat surprised to learn that a sexy, vibrant woman like her had never had an orgasm, but when he’d thought about it, he realized that it wasn’t all that surprising, given how much she liked to be in control. He’d let her go because she’d looked so devastated, but he’d planned to call her and then had decided not to, sure that she wouldn’t talk to him. He decided to wait and see if she answered his e-mail.

  He began furiously typing his reply, hoping she’d get it before she logged off the computer. He wanted to get things rolling as soon as possible.

  Hello, Melinda. Yes, I do know your name, and before you panic and write me off as a stalker, just finish reading the e-mail and you’ll know exactly how I know it. I’m going to answer your e-mail from the bottom and work my way up.

  Of course there’s going to be more than a first date, dear heart. Make no mistake about it. I’m happy you read the fine print twice. I’d expect nothing less from you. I’m even happier that you’re on to me; that way there can be no confusion later on.

  As for meeting for “coffee or something” I’d prefer the “or something.” But I won’t tell you what that is right now.

  In your e-mail, you ask for my name. It’s Nicholas. Yes, it’s me, the Nicholas you work with at Living Well. As for what happened yesterday, I don’t want you to worry about it; I’m not. We’ll fix it, and if you’re agreeable, before our first date is over, I’ll show you that orgasms can be your friends.

  Now, back to the “or something” I referred to earlier. I want to cook dinner for you. If you’ll trust me enough, I’d like for you to come to my house for dinner—tonight, if you’re available. Nothing sexual has to happen if you don’t want it to. Or a whole lot can happen if you want it to. It’s completely up to you. I’m sure you already know just how much I want you, Lindy. I’ve made no secret of it. But you have control, and I’ll follow your lead. If you’ll let me, I’ll teach you how to enjoy your sexuality and your body. I can pick you up for dinner at seven.

  I think you’ve probably already figured out just how I knew what BSA stands for, but just in case you haven’t, I’ll tell you. I eavesdropped on your conversation with Cally. I want you, Melinda. I took my time over the past couple of months, playing our little sexy word games, letting you lead the chase while I tried to catch you. Quite frankly, I was already tired of waiting by the time I overheard your conversation. I had planned to make my move anyway, so when I heard you talking about BSA, I took my opportunity where I found it.

  Let’s go back to the confusion that I mentioned earlier. To further eliminate even the possibility of there being any, I’m going to make my intentions very clear right now. I want to do more than spank that firm ass of yours. I want to taste it and your clit. I want to watch you while you touch yourself and me. I want to lick your pussy, suck your nipples, and feel your opening squeezing my dick until it’s squeezed it of every drop it has. And after that, I want to start again. I want to do it all, Melinda. Will you let me?

  May I have your address?

  Mouth wide open, Mel read Nick’s e-mail again; just to be sure she’d read it correctly the first time—and the second. She ignored the little voice that said she was only reading it again because it turned her on. Her breathing was fast, choppy and loud in the quiet room as she finished reading the last paragraph for the third time. She felt hot, even though the air conditioning was on. The sleeveless short nightgown she wore was too much and its satiny material seemed to chafe against her suddenly too-sensitive skin. She felt an urgent need to peel it off her body, and before she realized it, her fingers were at the bottom of the gown, preparing to lift it over her head. At the last minute, she stopped herself.

  She sat in the chair, a confused mass of longing. Her breasts bobbed in time with her breathing, her nipples beading and turning hard as she read the last paragraph again. And again. I want to taste your clit. I want to lick your pussy. She imagined Nicholas saying those words to her in his rumbling, sexy baritone and she cried out as the heat twisted and grew in her stomach. She smelled her own arousal in the air and moaned. The intense ache she felt was spreading and demanding to be appeased.

  Her thighs fell open of their own accord, as if telling her that she knew what she needed to do.

  Eyes wide and nervous now, Mel squeezed her legs back together, trying to concentrate on what she should do about Nicholas. Her hand wanted to wander down between her legs, but she restrained herself. I can’t, she told herself. She closed her eyes, counting and picturing equations in her head until the urgent need to touch herself had passed. A few minutes later, she opened her eyes and sighed, realizing what she’d done.

  “You always were a chicken, Mel,” she murmured. “This can’t be a healthy attitude.”

  Nicholas had tricked her. She couldn’t believe it. She had to admit, though, that she was glad he was the one who’d answered the ad correctly. Especially after what had happened at the clinic the night before. He’d known all along about the ad but hadn’t said anything. She didn’t know if she should feel embarrassed or pleased. He certainly deserved some sort of comeuppance for being so damned sneaky. She sighed. He was solely responsible for all these new feelings she was having—for her newly awakened body.

  She clicked on reply, briefly typed her answer to his e-mail, and quickly sent it off into cyberspace before she could change her mind. “Persistence pays off,” she murmured. She was more nervous than she’d ever been. In fact, it was bordering on fear. But she knew that this step was long overdue for her. She needed to take it. She wanted Nicholas.

  Nick heard the ding from the computer that signified he had new mail and impatiently clicked out of the Microsoft Excel document he was working in and back to his e-mail account.

  “It certainly took her long enough,” he said as he opened Mel’s response. Reading it quickly, he chuckled to himself.

  She’d typed three lines:

  I now think I prefer the term “sneaky bastard” to “clever boy.” I’d rather drive my own car to your house. Send me your address and I’ll see you at seven.

  He typed his own answer. After giving her his address, he typed:

  This sneaky bastard will see you promptly at seven, sweetheart.

  6

  Melinda sat across the dinner table from Nicholas in his gorgeous dining room. The entire house was beautiful. He’d given her a tour of the restored brownstone when she’d arrived, and she’d been thoroughly impressed, especially since he’d decorated the place himself. The house was located in Bronzeville, a neighborhood given its name because of the many blacks who’d lived there in the 1920s through the 1950s. The area had been a self-sufficient city
within a city, because black people had been denied services in other parts of the city in the first half of the last century.

  The area had fallen on hard times in the sixties and seventies when new housing laws had forbidden discrimination in housing and the wealthier residents had left for the suburbs and other neighborhoods. Many of the beautiful old brownstones and historical buildings had fallen into disrepair. Nicholas had told her that he’d bought his brownstone years before when he realized the value of the real estate. He hadn’t been the only one. Bronzeville had seen a resurgence of business and residential interest, and now the area was fast becoming one of the most expensive in the city. The only color that mattered now was green.

  She fixed the skirt of her little black dress around her knees and thought about how nervous she’d been on the drive over. She’d even felt a little shy, wondering what exactly was going to happen that night. Going back and forth in her head about whether or not she’d have sex with him, she’d decided that she was sick of being in her own special kind of limbo and that she would take that final leap and stop being so worried about being in control. She wanted to experience what other women experienced and what she’d read about time and time again in romance novels. Why shouldn’t she? If she changed her mind, at least she could drive herself home.

  When she’d arrived on his doorstep, he hadn’t given her much time to focus on being nervous or shy, because she’d barely said hello before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her mouth as if it contained some type of life sustenance. She couldn’t put it all off on him, though, because she’d been a willing participant.

  “So, Melinda,” Nicholas said as he forked up some cake from his plate. “Are you enjoying the meal?”

  Mel looked over at him with a lift of her brow. The linguini and shrimp had been delicious, as had the Caesar salad before it. Now they were enjoying a chocolate torte with espresso. “No, I hate it. I only suctioned it up like a Hoover because I couldn’t think of anything else better to do,” she teased, and picked up her coffee. “Who taught you how to cook like that?”

  Nicholas smiled. “My grandmother. She would always have me in the kitchen while she was cooking, telling me to lift this or get that ingredient and before I knew it, I was a good cook,” he said with a shrug. “Anyway, we’ve talked about work and your friends; will you tell me about yourself now?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything you want to tell me. I’m all ears, and I want to know everything there is to know about you.”

  “Everything?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “All right, then. I was born at Osteopathic Hospital on the South Side. I weighed six pounds, five ounces. My mother was in labor with me for twenty-two hours. I’m told that she almost reached down and pulled me out herself; that’s just how desperate the pain was making her—” Mel stopped and laughed at the expression of chagrin on his face.

  Nicholas shook his head at her in exasperation. “All right, so that wasn’t quite what I meant and you know it.”

  “Well, you did say everything,” she said when she finished laughing. “So, I thought I’d start at the beginning.”

  “Okay, so I deserved that. And as curious as I am about your auspicious beginnings, I don’t think there’s enough time tonight to hear about all of that, so let’s start someplace sensible. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “No, I’m an only child. What about you?”

  “I’m the oldest of four.”

  “All boys?”

  “No, I’m the only boy. I have three younger sisters.”

  “King of the castle, huh?” she asked.

  “Hardly. Those girls ran me ragged with demands. You try being the only guy in a houseful of females. My father died when I was eleven, and my mother, sisters, and I moved in with my grandmother. She babysat while my mom worked.”

  “You were close to your dad, huh?” Mel asked. She’d seen the wistful look on his face when he’d mentioned him.

  “Yeah, it was the two Pantino men against the world. We were protectors of the Pantino women. Anyone who dared to upset them or make them cry had to deal with us.” He smiled fondly as he reminisced.

  “Bet that didn’t stop for you when your father died, did it?”

  “No, not really,” Nick said, and took a sip of his coffee. “All games aside, it was my duty to take care of them, so I did.”

  Mel cocked her head as she studied him. “I bet you were such a serious kid. How old were you when you got your first job?”

  “Twelve. It was in the summertime. I did stock at Santori’s Grocery. I made a whopping two bucks an hour!”

  “That’s a lot of money to a twelve-year-old.”

  “Yeah, it was, but I contributed to the household finances, as much as my mother would let me. She worked as a secretary downtown, and I knew she needed the help with us.”

  “Did your mom ever remarry?”

  “No. She always said that no other man could take the place of Pop.”

  “Wow. What a lovely sentiment.”

  “Yeah, it was,” Nick said. “But tell me more about you.”

  Mel wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Well, I had a pretty good childhood. My parents kind of spoiled me. I didn’t have everything I wanted, just what they thought I deserved. I had my two best friends instead of sisters. They’re like my sisters, though.”

  “What did your parents do?”

  “My mother was a teacher, and my father was a taxi driver. They’re both retired now.”

  “Do they still live in Chicago?”

  “Yeah. They always talk about moving to Florida, but I’m sure they never will. They’d be too worried that I’d be here alone without any family. Moving to Florida would make it very difficult for them to check in on me. They’d have to worry from a distance,” she said wryly.

  “Are they overprotective?”

  “A little, but they’re much better now. When I was a kid, they were really bad.”

  “Would they be concerned that you’re dating me?”

  “Maybe, but only because you’re divorced. Marriage is a huge deal to them, which is why they took it hard when I announced that I was getting divorced. Well, my mother did anyway.”

  “Your dad didn’t?”

  “No. He’d never liked Edmund. He thought he was too arrogant and a know-it-all.”

  “And was he?”

  “Yeah,” Mel said with a nod. “Pretty much. What about your ex-wife? Why’d the two of you divorce?”

  “Maria and I had known each other since the fifth grade. She was my first kiss. She was also the first girl I’d ever slept with. We dated off and on throughout high school, and then I went away to college; when I came back, she was still there. We thought we were in love, but we really were just comfortable with each other. We never should have gotten married. We were meant to be only friends.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “She’s in Italy. She married some minor count there, and they have five children.”

  “How sweet. I love children.”

  “So I take it you want some of your own.”

  “Yeah.” Mel’s eyes went wistful. “I always have.”

  “So why don’t you have any?”

  “Because it wouldn’t have been a good idea to bring children into the kind of marriage I had. I wanted to, but I just couldn’t bring myself to be that selfish.”

  Nicholas looked at her empty plate. “Would you like another slice?”

  Mel placed her hand on her stomach. “Good Lord, no. I don’t think my stomach could take another thing. But thank you, it was delicious. All of it.”

  “You’re welcome, and thank you for the compliment.” He rose and walked around the table to stand behind her chair. “Let’s finish this conversation in the living room. We’ll be more comfortable there.”

  Mel stood after he pulled back her chair. “Thank you.”

  “Should I bring the wine?” Nicholas
asked.

  “Sure, why not?”

  They walked through the dining room and into the living room where they sat on the long sofa. Nicholas poured them each another glass of wine, placing the bottle on the table in front of them. He turned to face her and handed her a glass. “So, finish telling me about your marriage.”

  Mel frowned into her glass as she thought about it. “There’s not a whole lot to tell, except we were miserable together.”

  “Why?”

  “To put it simply, he was a control freak, and I didn’t like to be controlled.”

  “Then why did you marry him?”

  Mel raised her eyes to look at him. She shrugged. “I really thought I loved him and when we were dating, he wasn’t so bad. But looking back on it now, I can see that there were signs. There always are.”

  “Is that why at thirty-four and after having been married for two years that you’ve never had an orgasm—because your husband was controlling?”

  Startled, Mel almost choked on the sip of wine she’d just swallowed. “Boy, you don’t pull any punches, do you?”

  Nicholas studied her. She’d worn a silky-looking dress that had no straps and barely reached her knees. She’d put on black high-heeled sandals to match. Her fingernails and toenails were both polished a hot red. She looked good enough to eat and he was still hungry. He answered her question. “I assumed you were ready to talk and get things out in the open. Am I wrong?”

  “No, not really.” She took a deep breath and said, “Yes, my husband was controlling, but I’d dated before him. I had a steady boyfriend in college, and I’d never been able to have an orgasm with him either.” She shrugged. “I’d just assumed that I was one of those women who can’t feel…well, I thought I was frigid.”

  Nicholas set his wine down, then took hers and set it down, too. Moving closer, he took her hands in his. “You’re joking, right? A woman like you? Frigid? That’s impossible.”

  “I know that now, but before I met you, I just thought there was something wrong with me.”