by Lisa Ferrari
With my finger up his ass and him watching me touch myself, Kellan’s lust is unbridled. He fucks my mouth. Fast and deep and with fury and passion, exactly the way I wanted.
The fact that there are a group of law enforcement professionals gathered in our kitchen is not lost on me. I think this may be adding to the excitement. I’m probably a closet exhibitionist, a pole dancer who never had the guts to get up there and grab the pole.
The head of Kellan’s erection is sliding down the back of my throat.
It occurs to me that I’m not gagging. Not choking. I’m taking him, receiving him.
I love him.
And he loves me.
There’s a ring on my finger.
This puts me over the top. The muscles in my abdomen and groin and pelvis and inner thighs tighten up. My orgasm is close.
“Yes, Claire, yes. I’m close. I’m going to come in your mouth. I want to come with you.”
Hearing his voice, his words, hearing him say the word come thrills me and my climax erupts. My whole body tenses and squirms and writhes.
“Oh, Claire… Oh, Claire… Oh, Claire… Yes… I’m coming. Oh God, Claire, I’m coming…”
Hot semen shoots into my mouth and down my throat. I swallow every drop. Kellan’s anus clamps down on my finger. I feel it pulsate as his muscles contract. His entire body is tensed, his muscles flexed. I feel him quivering because he’s coming so hard. The head of his penis bobs against the back of my throat with each pulse.
I’m coming so hard I can’t breathe.
We’re locked together like erotic statues.
Kellan leans forward, close to me, cradling my head. He’s above me, breathing heavily. Every few seconds an aftershock goes through him and his body reacts. His erection pulses, becoming harder for a moment, then wilting a bit more.
Finally, he withdraws.
Kellan sinks to his knees before me and places his forehead on mine, his eyes closed.
I finish swallowing his semen. I love the taste of him, warm and sweet.
“God, I love you, Claire,” Kellan whispers.
“I love you, too, Kellan. So much.”
Our arms curls around each other and we kiss, our lips pressed together hard.
Kellan eventually pulls back, takes my face in his hands, and looks into my eyes with an intensity I’ve never seen before.
“Everything is going to be all right. Okay?”
I nod. Feebly. Hesitant to believe him.
“Claire, listen to me. There’s nothing to be scared of. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Say it.”
Kellan didn’t just have a gun pointed at him, but I say it anyway. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”
“That’s my girl. You want to stay here and rest while I escort our company out?”
I nod.
Kellan helps me lie down. He drapes a blanket over me. He grabs a fresh tee shirt from the closet and slips it on. It’s one of his workout shirts that hugs his body, really showing off his pecs and shoulders.
On his way out of the room, he leans down and kisses my cheek. I feel his breath warm and tickly on my skin.
“I love you,” he says. Then he’s out the door, closing it softly behind him.
I grab his tee shirt off the floor and hug it to my chest as I pull the comforter up to my chin. I press the soft cotton tee shirt to my face an inhale deeply. It smells like him. A combination of body wash and facial moisturizer and sweat and his own natural sweet scent that reminds me of toffee.
The image of Kellan’s grave comes unbidden into my mind and despite the connection we’ve shared moments ago, I fear losing him. Fresh tears come to my eyes and I weep silently into his tee shirt. I’m acutely aware of everything that’s happened today. Now that I’m alone, I am free to process it in my own way, and I sob into the pillow, hoping Kellan doesn’t hear me.
I AWAKEN LATER.
The sun is setting.
I’m still in bed.
Kellan is beside me, reading Deathly Hallows. It’s his copy, not mine, the one I taped back together a page at a time.
I’m still holding his tee shirt.
I sit up.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi. Is everyone gone?”
“Yep. Just us. Oh, except for Uzi. He’s out front, keeping an eye on things.”
“Who’s he?”
“A friend of Rami’s. Sheila called earlier and we talked and she suggested we hire someone and Rami was there and had his friend Uzi call. He came over and I liked him and Rami trusts him so I hired him.”
“Is that expensive?”
“Don’t worry about it. You can’t put a price on your safety or your peace of mind.”
“What do you think about having everyone over for dinner tonight?”
“Tonight? Are you sure you’re up for that?”
“Absolutely. I just had a really great nap. I feel good.” And I do. Almost like the day’s events never happened.
“Sounds good to me. Want me to call Sheila?”
“I’ll do it. Want to go sit by the pool?”
Kellan grabs his copy of Deathly Hallows and we go out back and sit by the pool. The late afternoon sun feels nice on my face.
I grab my phone. It’s off.
“Oh, yeah,” Kellan says. “Your phone was going crazy so I turned it off.”
“Going crazy how?”
“Phone calls and text messages. I think every person you’ve ever known in your entire life heard about what happened today and has called or texted to see if you’re okay and to hear more about it. Also, and you should probably brace yourself, the TV news people from pretty much every network have been out front all day. They’ve also sent people to your parents’ house.”
“What?!”
“Yeah. I called your dad and I called Beth and spoke with both of them and assured them that you are fine and that you were taking a nap and that they shouldn’t worry. I told them you’d call them in a day or two, so you don’t have to worry about your mom going off on one of her rants about how you’re going to get shot on the sidewalk like John Lennon.”
I power-up my phone. Sure enough, there are more than 20 texts, 17 missed calls, and 87 unread emails.
I check my social media. It’s an onslaught of people saying they hope I’m okay and that they love me and that they are inspired by me and can’t wait to see my movie. (MY movie? Yikes, I hadn’t seen it in that context before.)
There are, of course, some haters and jokers and internet-warrior-keyboard-hero dipshits and all-around irreverent fuck-sticks who say they wish I would’ve been shot between the eyes and that I’m an ugly cow and I’m going to get fat again someday and I should just hurry up and drink myself to death or eat myself to death or O.D. or jump off an overpass and get it over with so everyone can be spared the sadness of my slow and tragic demise, and that they hope pictures of my dead, mangled, bloody body wind up all over the internet, but can I please post a bunch of naked pictures of myself so they’ll have something to jerk off to after they get tired of jerking off to the pictures of my dead body.
What has our society come to?
People say stuff like that online, in a public forum, where their words will be recorded forever, yet they would never dare say such a thing to your face. The cowardly courage of anonymity.
Whatever.
I’ll deal with them later. Right now I want to get back to normal life. I get on the phone and call Sheila, Aaron, Rami, Heather, Calista, and Jeremee to see if they can come for dinner tonight, even though it’s short notice.
When each of them answers the phone, they’re shocked and scared and ask if I’m okay.
I try to play it cool. I feel fine. It’s almost like it didn’t happen. The only thing I’m scared of, the only thing that truly terrifies me, is the thought of losing Kellan. The thought of something happening to me and of me losing him because
I’m dead is something I am aware of only tangentially.
Everyone agrees to come for dinner.
I call the California Vegan place on Sunset where Kellan and I ate once a few weeks ago and have them send us a dozen different dishes, enough for all eight of us.
Kellan calls Uzi and has him come in so we can meet and talk for a few minutes. He’s slender and of average height, has a mostly shaved head and a five o’clock shadow. He has a handsome Mediterranean look. He’s a very sweet guy. You would never know by talking with him that he’s a security professional.
I ask him if he’s armed.
“Yes, of course.” He has an accent I can’t quite place.
“Can I see?”
Uzi turns to Kellan.
“Don’t look at me,” Kellan says. “If the lady wants to see what you’re packing, that’s up to her.”
Uzi shows me his arsenal. He has two semi-automatic pistols, both with what he calls high-cap mags, and a small revolver around one ankle and two knives on the other ankle, plus a garotte wire in his pocket. He says sometimes you can sneak up on your enemy and dispatch them quietly with one of these. Plus, he says he has some heavier artillery in the truck. He asks if Kellan and I want to have a weapon in the house, or perhaps two, and if we want to go to a range with him to learn to shoot.
Kellan and I look at one another. I’m not certain what I think about the idea of having a gun in the house. I’ve only fired a .22 rifle when I was about 12, out at a family friend’s who lived in the country. I tell Uzi we’ll get back to him on that point.
EVERYONE COMES OVER for dinner.
They each arrive bearing a bottle of wine, except for Rami, who brings a case of cold beer.
Uzi greets each of them and escorts them through the throng of reporters and cameras and paparazzi.
It turns out that they all know him, as he and Rami have been friends for years and he’s been to the office and to their houses numerous times. And they’ve used his company’s security services many times.
Kellan shows everyone the footage from the cameras hidden in my car. You can’t see the part where the guy points the gun at me, because he was beside me, but there is video online from a guy behind us who was on a motorcycle and had a GoPro mounted atop his helmet, and he got the whole thing.
Everyone agrees it’s pretty freaky.
Rami opens the case of beer and offers the first bottle to me.
“Beer sounds absolutely perfect,” I say.
Rami twists off the top and hands it to me. I chug half of it. It’s cold and fizzy and tingles my throat. But it’s also sweet and wheaty and doesn’t taste like a skunk, which is the reason I generally don’t care for beer. I belch loudly. Everyone laughs.
Everyone decides to drink beer. At least we’ll have wine to put in the cellar now.
Rami explains that the beer is Gold Star. It’s an Israeli beer he picked up at BevMo.
“They were out of Blue Moon?” Aaron asks.
“No,” says Rami. “Why?”
“You always drink Blue Moon,” Aaron replies.
“Yes, but Gold Star is Israeli beer. We’re all going to Israel. Claire needs to be able to drink like an Israeli. Everyone raise your drinks,” Rami declares. “I’d like to propose a toast. To Claire. Our star. Writer. Actor. Navy SEAL. And, now, today, stunt driver and all-around bad ass. Claire, we love you, we’re happy and relieved that you’re okay and that you’re here safe with us and we’re going to have a nice dinner and forget all about that piece of trash who stole your underwear. To Claire!”
“TO CLAIRE!” everyone chants, and we all drink.
“Speech! Speech!” several people call out.
Lord, I don’t want to give a speech. But I figure they want to hear that I’m truly all right and that their $600 million-dollar movie can go forward as planned.
“Thank you, Rami, for that rousing toast. And for the beer. And thank you, everyone, for coming over tonight on such short notice. Thank your families for me later, please, for being so understanding. I’m not sure what to say, except that I’m fine. That guy didn’t get me. That panty-waving sack of shit… And it’ll take a lot more than some torn-up books and a little car chase to scare me away. I’ve been thinking about what happened today, and it’s almost like it didn’t happen. It’s… surreal. The only thing I’m scared of, the only thing that truly terrifies me, is the thought of losing Kellan. But enough of that. Let’s focus on what we want. Kellan is always saying to focus on the positive, so let’s do that.” I raise my beer. “So here’s to not only the most expensive movie ever made, but also one of the best movies ever made. May it win tons of awards and may we all get filthy stinkin’ rich!”
“Hear, hear!” several people call out, and we all drink.
“Okay,” I say, “who’s hungry? The food is ready. Everyone take a plate and help yourselves.”
We all make our way through the small buffet I’ve set up on the kitchen island, and we all sit out by the pool and eat the yummy food the restaurant sent over while we enjoy good conversation.
After dinner, we spend about forty-five minutes combing the internet for the many video clips of my high-speed chase today. And there are many. At least fifty. The best one is from a local news chopper that was hovering in the area and caught most of it with their high-quality camera. It’s riveting stuff. After a little while, I seem to lose my connection to it all. I forget it was me behind the wheel of the little red convertible flying through traffic and being chased by the black SUV. I become a spectator like everyone else. We all chat briefly about the intrigue of high-speed chases, and what it is about them that people find so fascinating. We all remember the O.J. chase. Several others come to mind, not just in L.A. The one where the guy stole a tank from a National Guard armory is also mentioned. We’ve all seen that one.
Eventually we all start to feel like we’re a little too excited about it all, and we quickly change the subject to more mundane things.
Several news helicopters are hovering in the sky, no doubt recording our house from a distance.
We dutifully ignore them.
A COUPLE HOURS later, everyone decides to head out.
Jeremee kisses me and says she’ll take care of the press and for me not to worry about a thing.
Everyone else hugs me and says they’ll be in touch and that we’re welcome to drop by the office anytime.
Uzi sees everyone through the gate, to where the reporters are, and I watch from the window as Jeremee has all the lights and cameras pointed at her and the microphones stuffed in her face.
Suddenly I get pissed.
I don’t want other people fighting my battles for me.
Nor do I want that panty-stealing fuck to think I’m afraid of him, that I won’t appear on camera.
I open the door and storm past Kellan and out to the gate, where I join Jeremee.
The cameramen and reporters and paparazzi all go freakin ape. They crowd around, trying to get close to me.
But Uzi is there like an invisible wall, holding them back like he’s a Mutant from X-Men.
Sheila, Aaron, Heather, and Calista all turn and watch.
I give everyone a moment to adjust to the fact that I’m here. “Good evening, everyone. First, I want to say that I am fine. Kellan is fine. That’s the most important thing. Second, I want to say thank you to everyone who has been so kind with your well-wishes and encouragement online and in social media.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something to put the haters in their place. But I decide it’s probably best to avoid the topic, to try to rise above it and all that, lest people think I’m a petty, argumentative person with thin skin.
“I want to extend my condolences to everyone who was involved in the accident today. I understand there were no serious injuries, and for that I am extremely, extremely grateful. If someone had been hurt because of me, well… let’s not go there. Let’s focus on wha
t we want.
“Which brings me to my final point: the douchebag who caused all of this. Not only did he break into our home and vandalize it and tear up my books and try to make Calista Roth look bad, and, by the way, she had absolutely nothing to do with this, despite what you may have read or heard, but he also stole my underwear. He didn’t steal our TV, our laptops, my jewelry. Just my underwear. So not only is he a felon, an asshole, and a terrible driver, he’s also a knicker-sniffing creep. So if you’re watching this, and I know you are or that you will, I have only one thing to say to you: Watch your back. If you think you can assault me and my family and vandalize our home and pull a gun on me and chase me through traffic, endangering the lives of dozens and likely hundreds of innocent people, think again. We’re coming for you. Sleep with one eye open, asshole.”
I wave and say, “Thank you, everyone. Good night.”
And I close the gate.
Kellan and Rami are standing in the front door, eyes wide.
Uzi opens the gate and comes into the courtyard, securing the gate behind him. “Nicely done,” he says. “After you.”
We head into the house.
Kellan hugs me.
The four of us go sit by the pool. Rami, Uzi, Kellan and I finish off the case of Gold Star. We check our phones and enjoy the social media posts about the interview I just gave. Tweets and Facebook updates and Instagram and Pinterest and Reddit and Snapchat…
I decide to make a post of my own and put it on my Instagram page, which I haven’t posted to in a while. I take a selfie with the pool and city lights behind me. I hashtag it #IWantMyPantiesBack.
I suspect it’ll be trending soon. I’ll probably have 10,000 likes by morning.
LATER, IN BED, Kellan and I are staring out the window at the city lights, waiting to fall asleep, drowsy and relaxed from the beers, which we hardly ever drink.
Kellan is stroking my hair. It’s making me sleepy. He says, “That was really brave of you to go talk to the reporters the way you did.”
“Brave because I went out there or brave for what I said?”
Kellan laughs. “Both. What you said was perfect. You told them you were safe, and I was too, and you were worried about the people who were involved, and then you warned the guy who chased you to watch his back. That was perfect. Did you think of that ahead of time?”
