The Do-Over

by Julie A. Richman

  His body was behind mine moving me into the bathroom before I’d even flipped the switch. With one muscular arm wrapped around my breasts, he had moved me into the Colonial-decorated room and locked the door behind him. His other hand swiftly encased my throat, pulling my head back into him.

  “You may not have gotten on your knees for the dentist, Carissa, but you’re going to get on them for me.” The arm that was wrapped around my breasts slid down my body, while his other hand remained firmly around my neck.

  Pushing up my dress, he slid his hand under the thin material, his fingers beginning their exploration. “Commando,” he laughed. “I should have guessed.” And he continued his journey, maneuvering his hand around to the front of my body, pressing his flat palm against my lower abdomen until I was flush against him.

  As his grip on my neck tightened slightly, I felt his warm breath just underneath his hand followed almost immediately by the scraping of his teeth. I shuddered, losing balance on my strappy sandals and melting into him. He took advantage of my unsteadiness, sliding his hand from my abdomen to between my legs.

  “So smooth.” He ran his fingers over my newly waxed skin. “You did this for me, didn’t you, Carissa? You wanted me to explore your sweet, velvety pussy. So, so soft.” His hand around my neck continued to slowly tighten as his fingers ventured deeper into me. “You were so considerate, Carissa. I’m really touched. I love ramming into a naked pussy. And to wear a dress with no underwear. Mmm, mmm. Very, very thoughtful. You’ve made my life so easy today. All I have to do is bend you over that sink and push your dress up to fuck you.”

  Loosening his grip on my neck, his hand traveled up my face slowly, his fingers entering my hairline like the rakes of a comb until he reached the top of my head, where he filled his fist with my hair. In one swift movement, he wrenched my head to the right, exposing the left side of my neck to his waiting teeth. I yelped, not sure whether it was from the delicious pain tingling along my scalp or the searing sensation at the base of my neck.

  “When was the last time you sucked a cock?” his voice was gruff.

  I was thinking about his question, trying to remember a time when I wanted Frank in my mouth. Matthew yanked my hair, demanding an answer.

  Shaking my head, “Too long ago to remember.”

  “Your asshole ex had no idea what to do with a beautiful, confident woman. A woman like you knows exactly what to do with a cock. Not like his twenty-something wife who needs to be trained.”

  This man was not only hot, he was brilliant. He knew that would clinch the deal. There was no way, especially in my loose drunken state, that I was not going to prove to him that some post-pubescent piece of arm candy had anything on me. I was a woman. A real woman. With the battle scars and newbie little crow’s feet, just starting to take up residence on my face, to prove it.

  Breaking free of his grasp, I turned to him, my eyes telling him I was up for the challenge as I stared him down before going in for a kiss and reaching for his belt buckle.

  “You are a tiger,” he laughed.

  I didn’t bother to answer as I intently focused on sliding my hand in the opening of his boxer briefs and wrapping my fingers around his warm, velvety shaft. I continued to explore, urged on by the power of his expansion and lengthening in my hand. When I could feel his skin taut over his hardness, I pulled him out of the fly of his Dockers.

  With my free hand, I grabbed my own hair, twisting it into a ponytail and handing it to him.

  The edges of his mouth rose until his top lip formed his sneer-smile. “Nice, nice move. Very sexy,” he complimented as I began to sink to my knees.

  With an upward yank of my hair, he attempted to take back control.

  Looking up at him, I smiled. “I can stop, if you’d prefer.”

  His pale eyes looked even more transparent in the bathroom light. “Minx,” was the single word he spoke before pressing my head down with both hands without letting go of my hair.

  It had been so long. So damn long since I’d had a man’s cock in my mouth, and a damn fine cock it was. The girth was impressive. Slowly I worked my tongue around him, deliberately making a slow meal of it, just to torment him. My morning’s solid intake had been limited to celery sticks, so I wholeheartedly was enjoying this feast as I took him deeper and deeper, inch by inch.

  “Fuck,” he bellowed, as his crown neared the back of my throat and I tightened my lips around him. “Fuck.”

  Pulling me up by my hair, he spun me around, bending me over the sink, as promised, then released my ponytail and my hair puddled around me on the cold marble countertop. I could hear the ripping of a condom packet and tried to catch my breath before he plowed into me.

  Without a word, he grabbed both my arms and bent them over the small of my back, holding them firmly in place in one of his big hands. I felt his finger from his other hand swiping up and down my slit before plunging in. I groaned at the insertion of just one finger and my reaction made him immediately add a second finger. Spreading my legs a little for him because I wanted more, much more, was the signal he needed to stab a third finger into me, preparing me to accept his significant girth. I wanted it now.

  “Give it to me,” I growled back at him, lifting my cheek from the cool marble.

  Removing his fingers from inside me, he reached up and grabbed my hair, yanking it hard. “When I’m ready.”

  Although his words rang of control, he immediately edged between my legs. I could feel the pressure of him against me, just starting to sink in and I pushed back into him, so that thrusting into me was his only option, which I answered with a tightening of my muscles around him.

  “God, yes,” I moaned. I’d forgotten how good it felt. Drunk and fucking in a bathroom. It had been a long, long time. This was so not me and yet so very liberating. It was like a gift for living through all the crap and heartache with Frank and CB, for being the one to put Scarlett back together when her father didn’t put her first, for spending the last fourteen years on the backburner putting everyone else’s life in front of mine, for worrying about everyone else’s happiness but my own.

  And I wanted an orgasm. A big, full-throttle, out-of-control orgasm. I wanted to scream so loud that the bartender and half the dining room heard me.

  I tried pulling my right hand from Matthew’s tight grasp. I needed to touch myself. The more I struggled, the tighter his grip became holding me back from myself. Fuck. I needed my hand. And just as I couldn’t focus on anything but freeing my hand to pleasure myself, the thumb of his free hand thrust deep into my ass and my own hand quickly was but a distant memory.

  “Yes,” I screamed as I started to quake around him. I could feel him stroking his cock with the thumb in my ass and I went far over the edge. So far that he let go of my hands, clamping his palm over my mouth until his body slumped onto mine, his broad chest heaving against my back.

  Closing my eyes and feeling his warm breath on me, I realized I could just drift away into sleep, or possibly pass out, right there with my head on the marble counter. There was a comfort feeling having his big body on top of mine.

  But it wasn’t a moment later that Matthew stirred and began to rise off me. I heard a splat in the toilet as he tossed in the condom and I forced my eyes open, then immediately began to straighten up, smoothing down my dress. Knowing my hair must’ve been a sight, I reached up to pull it to one side, hoping it created a look rather than merely appear as a just-fucked disaster.

  As I turned to face Matthew, I realized I was truly ravenous.

  “Well that was a good way to work up an appetite.” I joked, not sure how to act in this situation.

  He almost smiled, but not quite, then the man looked at his watch. “I’ve got a 12:30 tee time, so I really need to run.”

  I can only imagine the look on my face. Did he really just say that to me? Could he be that huge of a douche?

  “So, you invited me to brunch with no intention of ever having brunch.” I shook my head. An
d although I wanted to sarcastically tell him what a class act he was, the fact that I’d just had sex with him in the bathroom didn’t exactly spell class act on my part either.

  There was nothing to say and without another word, I turned on my heel and walked out of the bathroom.

  As I waited for the valet to bring my car around, I prayed Matthew didn’t come out before I left. Tee time. He was so full of shit. Descending the inn’s long driveway, it occurred to me just how much sex had sobered me up. Once on Rt. 25A, I looked for a drive-thru, finding the perfect one to counteract the remainder of the alcohol and provide the sugar and carb comfort necessary after this morning’s humiliation. Dunkin’ Donuts was my personal savior.

  Settled back behind the wheel with a large dark roast coffee in hand, a bagel sandwich with cheese and bacon and a Boston Crème donut, this late morning trifecta served up the perfect comfort food breakfast to help my battered and confused ego on the twenty-minute ride home.

  Tossing my keys on the kitchen counter, I dug my phone out of my bag and tapped the PerfectDate app icon. There he was, with a little green dot next to his name. Matthew was logged on. And there were no messages for me. Unlike every other time I’d seen him on the site over the past two weeks, he did not greet me the moment I logged on.

  Golfing? Bullshit!

  The asshole was not golfing; he was trolling for his next encounter. Douche!

  Staring at my phone it wasn’t clear what was the correct thing to do. Send him a message saying, “WTF?” or “What the heck was that today?” Was he really going to ignore me and not acknowledge that I’d logged on?

  In my bedroom, I tossed my phone on the bed and decided I needed a shower. Leaving a trail of clothes on my bedroom floor, I needed to cleanse every inch of myself, let every second of this morning be rinsed down the drain. The excitement of our flirtation of the last two weeks was gone, and I was pretty sure that empty feeling I was left with, was what was going to be the thing that haunted me most. He was a man I’d talked to for two weeks and met once, how could it feel like an actual breakup? I asked myself. It had been a long time since I’d had this overwhelming icky feeling after something ended. But those had been relationships that had lasted longer than two weeks. This just didn’t seem possible that I was feeling it and I wondered, was it the intensity based on how the new mediums were so geared toward talking or was I just such a novice at this again? Had hiding behind the Carissa persona actually given me the comfort and the confidence to really share who I was with this person prior to meeting him, and that in actuality, my anonymity had made me more vulnerable?

  My mind was spinning and my inner thighs felt strained and tender, not unlike my heart.

  With pruning fingers, I finally emerged from the shower feeling as if I’d rid myself of his touch. Swiping the condensation from the mirror, I let out a huge groan. There on the lower left of my neck was a purple bruise from where he’d bit me. Oh great, now I’d have to look at this little parting gift until it healed. Brushing my hair to the left, I decided not to blow it dry knowing a wild mess would probably cover it better.

  Sitting on the bed and picking up the phone, I felt that obsessive pull to check the app. Yes, Matthew was still there. No, there was no message for me. And nope, not a word when I logged back on. After staring at the screen for a minute, still trying to decide what to do, if anything, I hit close and opened up another dating app where I deleted my profile information. Over the next five minutes I had done that with all of the dating apps and then deleted the app itself off my phone. The only one left was PerfectDate and I logged on one more time. Matthew was still there and hadn’t attempted to contact me.

  “You know what, asshole,” I said to the phone. “I am not giving you any control. You’re a dick and I deserve better. You have skated through life on your looks. You’re a fucking hologram.” And with that, I deleted my profile from PerfectDate and then deleted the app from my phone.

  In fifteen years, I’d slept with two men, Frank and now Matthew. Matthew’s purpose was to get me out there in the world again. And that, he did. It was very clear from today that beyond that, Matthew had nothing real to offer me.

  If I’m meant to find someone, our paths will cross, I decided. And I smiled, hearing Jill’s voice in my head saying, “Next!”

  Now I just needed a new frigging dentist.

  Chapter 9

  Monday morning’s staff meeting had me sporting a pale pink silk chiffon scarf tied around my neck. Not a typical look for me.

  “Hiding a hickey or something,” Chris teased me.

  “I should get so lucky,” I laughed. I was feeling out of sorts and was thrilled it was Monday and I was back at work.

  “So, I had a very interesting meeting in the clubhouse on Friday afternoon after the Breast Cancer Resource Council golf event and I think we’re going to have the opportunity to bid on a really interesting series of Public Service Announcement videos.”

  “New client or for the BCRC?” asked Jonathan Mills, our Director of Copy and Creative Services. Jonathan was our storyline guy for the videos. I would take his script and come up with the look and then we’d hand it off to production to cast, direct and create the video.

  “Yeah, a totally new client. They’ve been around for a few years and the brand has really taken off. They manufacture workout clothing for women who have had breast cancer,” Chris explained.

  “C-Kicker?” The question was out of my mouth without thinking.

  Chris looked surprised. “Yes, C-Kicker. You’re familiar with them?”

  “Yes, my friend, Jill, who I work out with is a huge fan. She wears them all the time. The outfits and styles are really cute and their materials are very bright and vibrant. She’s always raving about the comfort.”

  “That’s good that you are familiar with them, it’ll give you a good sense of direction to go with this. They’re looking for a few things; a series of PSA’s to run during National Breast Cancer Month in October, focused on women being vigilant about going for mammograms and doing self-exams, and they also want to shoot a series of videos to embed into their website that are real-life stories. We’re meeting with them in two weeks, so we’ve got time. I’d say the best place to start is their website. I think we’ll be able to get a lot of the answers right there.” He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Donna. “Donna, this is the info for the CEO’s assistant. Let’s have you be central coordinator on this. If any of you have any questions, have Donna send them over.”

  My mind was spinning, the two ends of the project were so different, public service announcements versus marketing. I couldn’t wait to start my research.

  “Okay, let’s win this,” were Chris’ last words to us as we emerged from the conference room.

  Their fabrics were so bright and happy. The colors just made me smile. All I could think of was rainbow sherbet from when I was a kid. I loved that their photos showed women of all shapes and sizes, from tiny fit women like Jill to women who were older and just beginning their journey toward health.

  Peppered throughout the site were motivational stories. Open, compelling and raw, I sat at my desk crying and silently cheering on the strength of these women. How many people did I personally know who were in some stage of fighting or recovery of breast cancer? Too many. Too damn many.

  With every line I read, I became more and more committed to being part of a team that joined in with this awesome start-up company. They had been in existence for only five years and between corporate ethos, customer-centric dedication, and a quality product with a fair price point, C-Kicker was kicking butt in the fashion industry and putting a smile on the faces of those who had faced darkness.

  Good for them, I thought.

  I continued to go through the website: About Us, Our Mission, Give Back, Latest Styles, Contact Us. The rest was pretty generic stuff you find on a website.

  For a fleeting moment, I thought to myself that the C-Kicker proposal and presentati
on had truly been a divine gift; the timing could not have been more perfect. I needed a wonderful focal point that helped me to re-center my priorities, move past the debacle of a weekend I just had and make a positive impact. I was all in.

  Next step on my mission was to gather more intel so that I had a better feel for the company, and then Jonathan and I could lock ourselves away in a room and start working on the mock-ups of several concepts and story lines to present to the potential client. If we were to bring on the client, once they agreed on a particular campaign, then Jamie Newfield, head of our production team would join us and we’d begin the process of casting, finding locations, scripting, music and all the pieces that would make each piece a short film.

  After thoroughly combing through their website, was the Google part of the search. I found that it was often in the “soft” stories that were in the press that I would find what really made a company tick, and at that point, visual concepts would start flooding my brain and Jonathan and I would get down to brass tacks. I loved the research piece of my job, or company stalking, as I liked to kid.

  C-Kicker was all over the press, having participated in many breast cancer events as well as sponsoring others. The first link that caught my eye was from last fall’s U.S. Open Tennis Tournament. The title read, Cancer Survivors Ace the Open. Arthur Ashe Stadium, Forest Hills, N.Y. – C-Kicker, the hot sports clothing company whose line of workout clothes are specifically designed for women recovering from breast cancer… The article cut off and I clicked to open and read the remainder of the NY Post article.

  The page opened and below the headline was a grainy B&W photo. The caption read, GRAND SLAM CANCER KICKERS, C-Kicker CEO, Wes Bergman and breast cancer survivors, Sherri Altman and Maureen Politano raised …