by J. B. Baker
My gaze remains glued to the phone as Savannah accesses various photographs of Noah on the web. It’s the who’s who of Hollywood, the music industry and politics. I swear there is even one with Noah and the president of the United States. It’s incredible to see a fellow native of Fall Creek to have come so far. Despite his earlier conceitedness, I feel my chest swell up with pride as if I was the one on all of the photographs.
A loud whoosh of air escapes my mouth. Argh, I should’ve known. It feels as if my heart stopped beating and I am about to die. I am gawking at one of the sexiest women there is. She stares back at me smugly from the screen on Savannah’s smartphone.
And that’s where it begins, my little tour of ‘Noah’s girlfriends’ past.’ Yay, I love the Internet and mobile technology. Thanks to it, I know exactly what Noah’s last ten dates looked like. I am also able to ascertain how many women he’s fucked, when and where and exactly what they wore before he undressed them. Sometimes I wish I were born in a different age – modern technology sometimes tells us things we really don’t want to know.
Obviously, the women he was involved with were all hot as hell. That was to be expected. But not one of them had any resemblance to the other. I have often heard that men usually have a target group or a type of woman they prefer – like maybe blondes or brunettes or women with a motherly disposition or maybe girly types or the educated kind. Not Noah. He just likes women – all of them. It seems to me that if she has an opening between her legs and looks like a superstar, he is in there with his gun blazing.
“Can you stop that, Savannah? I think I have had enough. Seeing just about every Victoria Secret model there is hanging on Noah’s arm is not my idea of fun. Let’s finish tidying up,” I say, feeling slightly nauseous. Why I am jealous is beyond me. It’s not like he’s my boyfriend. More importantly, it’s not like I have feelings for the man.
“Don’t you want to see him with Emilia Clark – oh, my god, this one is like so cool,” says Savannah, getting excited again. She shoves the phone right under my nose so that I get a perfect glimpse of the next beautiful woman.
“What does this one do? Model, businesswoman or genius scientist?” I groan.
Both my sister and Savannah stare at me as if I just escaped from a psychiatric ward. “That is the actress who plays Daenerys Targaryen in Game of Thrones. Don’t tell me that you don’t know who that is?” says Savannah.
“I haven’t got a clue. Yeah, I have heard of the show. I guess I belong to the very few that have not seen it. I prefer playing my music to watching TV,” I say. “That’s enough of Noah Jackson, okay. Let’s finish off here; I am tired.”
“You’re right. I have had enough of seeing him on the red carpet or in front of chic restaurants with his clothes on and the smug faces of other women in his arms. Let’s see if we can get him with a little less stitching on that hot body of his, huh.”
I can’t help but laugh. My earlier jealously is all but assuaged. Savannah’s enthusiasm is infectious. I guess she is almost as addicted to men as Noah is to women. Maybe they would make a nice couple? I shake my head. He wants me. I know it. I just have to decide whether it is him I want. I guess…it all depends on the way he behaves in the coming days.
“Oh my God, this is like so hot,” squeals Savannah.
“That’s fucking it – Hunter is going on a diet and a fitness regimen as of tomorrow. If his two years younger brother can look like that then so can he,” hisses Kylee with piercing eyes that could kill.
“What have we got now?” I ask barely interested.
“Only the hottest Noah Jackson pics from his Instagram account – I can’t believe it’s not private - yippee.” Savannah does a little jiggle on the spot. “I swear this one of him in the South of France last year is like so hot.”
“Yeah, he just checked into this place called the Hotel du Cap, in Antibes. Whoa, he’s so sexy, and the scenery is amazing,” says Kaylee.
I can’t believe my sister is ogling her brother-in-law on Instagram. I put down the glasses I planned to take to the kitchen and see what all the fuss is about. Holly crap. He’s absolutely perfect in just his bathing costume. Hypnotized, I gawp at his washboard abs, V-shaped flanks, and a perfectly toned chest to die for. His legs are flawlessly shaped and sort of taper lower from his sexy hips and the hottest ass imaginable…yep, Savannah just switched the photo to one of him standing facing the Mediterranean – perfect view of his behind that looks like a cinnamon bun in the tight-fitting swimming trunks he is wearing; yummy.
“Does this guy never wear anything other than swimwear and maybe a shirt?” Savannah is incredulous as she continues perusing his Instagram account.
“Maybe he is always on holiday. We’ve only seen photos of him on various Caribbean Islands, all of the hotspots in Europe and…”
“Here,” yells Savannah, cutting my sister off in mid-flow. “Oh my, he is quite the adventurer too. Who is this guy that is always with him?”
I stare at the photograph of Noah standing somewhere that looks very much like the North Pole with an obviously irritated Afro-American man standing next to him. “It’s Glyn; James Jackson’s buddy. At least I think it is. That’s how he introduced him to me earlier this evening.”
“James Jackson’s buddy? He must also be Noah’s best friend because he doesn’t go anywhere without the guy. Look…if the press shows him with women in nearly every article, Noah thinks none of them are important enough to have on his own account. Not a single woman in his arms,” says Savannah frowning.
“Noah’s never had a girlfriend,” says my sister. “The poor man. He must feel so lonely and shallow.”
“That’s why he behaves the way he does.” It all makes sense to me now. Noah Jackson has created this imaginary fortress around him, nothing and nobody is allowed in. I must say, I do find it kind of good that he has no women on his Instagram account. It means that he is not as superficial as his Google presence suggests. Also, when he does have a serious relationship one day, the woman involved will be the first on his personal accounts. This notion somehow excites me.
“His best buddy could give him a few pointers; he’s gay,” says Savannah, meticulous as always in her cyber-stalking.
“What makes you say that?” I ask.
“Because there’s a photo of Noah with this Glyn guy and his male fiancé…and look, Glyn’s account is also public.” And so, Savannah takes our research to the next level.
While Savannah is still glued to her phone, occasionally emitting little shrieks of glee or surprise, Kaylee and I finish off the rest of the cleaning. Afterwards, we sit down at the table in the kitchen and check out Savannah’s most recent findings. I must admit, Noah has a charmed life and I would love to know more about him from his lips.
****
“Oh my God.” My eyes snap open, but they have no vision, only the whites reveal themselves. Gradually, they shut again as I succumb to the full force of my dream once more.
I do not notice my body writhing naked on the bed. I never sleep in the nude. Usually, I would don a pair of my cute and comfy jammies. Yet, all of the thinking and ogling of Noah, coupled with too much sparkling wine had put me in a sexy mood before bed.
My mind feels as if it is lost somewhere else. My eyes swivel about in the sockets erratically. I moan again, lips shuddering as I mouth, “You are so fucking sexy.” I don’t know if I utter the words in my dream or in reality. It doesn’t matter for I am transfixed by lustful emotions I do not recognize.
Hardly a sound passes my lips, just incoherent mumbles and the noise of sticky lips smacking against each other. “Mm, I bet you taste so good.” Again nothing other than the purring of deep and dreaming sleep permeating the room.
I can see the outlines of a man’s body through a gauzy film of haze. He is but a shadow, a figment of my imagination. “No, this is not my mind playing tricks on me but…” shouts my mind. I can see the sun’s beams shining, trying to get through the mist. “Where am
I?”
“You’re with me,” rumbles a deep and comforting voice. I love its sound. It’s so hot and sticky and oozes cindering masculine sexuality. My sex slicks over, sultry and begging.
“I know you…who are you?” I croak. My lips do not move. My body continues to writhe on the bed. My skin absorbs the feel of the sheets – the friction makes me hornier still.
The man chuckles. “Come to me, Zoey. I want to show you the real me. The guy you want me to be.”
For a heartbeat, I am afraid. What do I want him to be? I ask myself in the realms of my dream. “Everything,” says a mystical voice. “You want him to be the man you always dreamed of.” I gasp. “Yes,” I whisper. He smiles at me, inducing the haze to lift.
Back on my bed and in my studio, goosebumps appear on my skin. The deep reverberation of his baritone and the strangeness of my predicament make my body react in ways I never have before encountered in the same force. My nipples harden, my tummy muscles clench, and the cleft in-between my legs start to drip with desire.
Automatically, my right-hand shifts in that direction. First, I stoke the neat tuft of curls on my mound before diving lower for my little bud of uncontrollable eloquence and pleasure. “Argh!” I groan as my dreamlike state, and eager fingers invite familiar warmth that has never felt so good.
“Come to me now!” commands the man in my dream.
I love the authority in his voice. I recognize it. It is as alluring and as sexual as it was before. “When before?” My mind is still too confused to put everything together. All I know, feel is that I need release, freedom from the shackles of my self-imposed chastity.
“Yes, yes, I’m coming.” Like a sleepwalker, I stumble forward in my dream. My bare feet make no sound on the ground. I stop to look around. “Where am I?” I mutter.
“With me, here, in the field close to home,” he says. I know it now. We are on the meadow near Fall Creek. It was where I used to go when I thought of him as a young girl. It was my little place of retreat and my secret spot.
Back in my bed, my legs spread to their maximum limit as my fingers fumble and probe in the slick wantonness that has coated my pussy. I mew when my mind finally provides me with the image I so desperately want. I knew it all along; only my confusion kept it a secret. I make out the contours of the man I so badly want to see.
“Noah, it’s you.”
“Yes.”
“Noah.”
In my dream, I prance over the grass, relishing in the feel of the blades of grass brushing against my skin. I only need two large steps until I fall into his strong arms. Without thinking, I press my mouth to his lips and plunge my tongue inside of his mouth. He is waiting for me like a snare. The moment, I am, inside, his tongue circles mine, twirling and gyrating in slippery sweetness.
I can’t stop myself from groaning when his hands cup my bare ass and begin to knead my cheeks expertly. How can I be naked? That is the first thought that comes to mind. Am I on a field naked? No, I went to bed naked. But I am not in bed; I am on the field with Noah. I can’t make up my mind. All that matters is his relentless plundering of my mouth.
“Argh, yes, don’t stop,” I gasp when he pulls me closer still. I can feel the hardness protrude through his clothing. Oh my, it is as large as I thought it to be when I ogled his jeans during the party.
“Yes, baby. Just like that.” Noah moves with me as I rub my body against his crotch, reveling in the feel of his erection.
“Ooh.” I bite on his lips a little when he, for the first time, enters my pussy with two fingers.
Searing fire shoots up from my sex and engulfs my entire body, right up to my breasts and scalp. I have to hold my breath. The way his fingers skillfully stimulate my slit and clit is heavenly. With a mind of their own, my hips start moving rhythmically, pressing my pelvis against his probing hand and fingers.
As the sensations take over, I released myself from the kiss and tilt my head back, eyes rolling up to as far as they can go. My mouth agape, I groan out loud. The pressure and pleasure builds up slowly, inexorably inside of me. “Yes, Yes, Noah.” I bite on my lower lip so forcefully that it should’ve hurt. I don’t feel any pain, just concentrated burning gushing from between my legs, moving upward, up, up and away.
“Feel it, baby. Let go for me, now” he whispers into my ear and very gently grazes my earlobe with his teeth. “Come for me, Zoey.”
Automatically, my legs bend lower, taking my frame down a notch. They spread, holding me prisoner, giving him full access to my most intimate of places.
“Oh… please, don’t stop.”
I try to stiffen my legs as my body convulses and vibrates. I am his sexual slave. His expert fingers work my slit relentlessly like I never knew it before. By now, my moaning is a continuous whimper. Back in my room, I emulate my dreamlike avatar as my eager and wet fingers imitate Noah’s in the lucid dream that is as real to me as if I am living it.
“Fuck, what’s this?” I scream in both my dream and in my studio.
The contours of orgasm appear, claiming me into its vortex of pleasure. My clit beats and rubs against his hand and mine, ramming our fingers even deeper inside of me. “Yes!” I am floating in two dimensions. Exhilarating places, both real and imaginary and populated by blazing contortions – I explode as my climax rushes over me. “Argh! Oooo…”
“Wow, you are so responsive.”
I do not hear his voice, only my own as I scream down the walls in my studio. “What! No! No! No!” I can’t see him anymore. “Where are you, Noah, Noah…don’t go.”
I feel tears seep from my eyes as post-orgasmic loneliness sets in. “What the hell?” I sit up on my bed. I shudder. It takes me a few heartbeats to get my bearings.
I lift my right hand to wipe away a wayward curl that got stuck to my forehead. “Oh, my God.” I frown, crinkling my nose. “No way; I am sweating…and what’s this?”
I lift my hand to my face to examine them. They are slick and seep lust and carnality. I sniff at them. I drink in my scent. Somehow the fragrance induces the heat between my legs back to the forefront.“Oh my, I think I just had the orgasm of a lifetime.”
As soon as I understand this, I feel the emptiness and the hollowness of post-climatic sadness that hits most of us. I slowly lean back onto the cushion. It feels weird to have fantasized about a man I think of us arrogant and misogynistic. Since when are those traits I find sexy? Like never. I think some more while I let doziness take over.
“Noah, you’re so sad and messed up, but I need you in my life right now.” The words barely brush past my lips as sleep again reclaims me.
CHAPTER 7: NOAH
“Come on, you two. The storm is coming in fast. We’ll never get the house boarded up in time;” yells granddad from his position in his seat on the porch. He is armed with a cigarette and a beer as usual.
“What storm. I checked my tablet, and there’s no news about a weather front building up,” says Glyn.
“You listen here, Glyn. I have been living here all of my life. When you have clouds like that in the sky, it means only one thing…board up the house, fill up the fridge with beer and be prepared to wait it out,” says grandpa, pointing up to the angry clouds in the sky.
I take no part in the conversation. My thoughts are all for Zoey. I have been like a zombie since waking up this morning. I never noticed Glyn sleeping in the bed across from me in my old room. I did not notice grandpa sitting on the porch smoking when I went out for my jog. And I did not register the pristine nature all around me while I ran.
My mind was for Zoey and Zoey alone. This scares the shit out of me, and nothing creeps me out. I love women, but they don’t usually have this effect on me. Sure, I admire their bodies, maybe their minds (if they are not too taken in by themselves) and always their voices. The latter attribute I need like a drug. If she sounds like a pig in gestation, then she sounds like that while you are fucking her - I bolt and never look back when that happens.
It was
a good choice to bring Glyn along with me. He and grandpa took some of the focus off of me all day with their deep conversations. I was left to brood in peace. Somehow, I know that my grandfather and Glyn know that I am drowned in thoughts about Zoey. Glyn would occasionally look in my direction, emitting soft little sighs. Granddad was less subtle. He’d shake his head ruefully and mumble some ripe oaths about me being a bigheaded gorilla. A few tips on how to woe women would soon follow before he resumed his chatting with Glyn.
For most of the day, I tried to recreate her smile in my mind. It is what I am doing right now. It pisses me off that the gesture had been so brief. The macho shit I said last night rubbed it right off her face in a heartbeat. It had never come back after that. In its place, a permanent scowl had taken up residence.
I know that I am the least romantic person on the planet. Sure, I am able to create the semblance of romance when I take chicks to nice places, but there is no heart in it just money spent. With Zoey, I find myself thinking of taking her on long walks during which we would talk incessantly, or maybe we might go for some ice cream. Jesus, when was the last time I went for a simple stroll with a woman? And ice cream - never.
She sings like a goddamn angel. Worse still, her voice has an effect on me. I need her; I know it. But how will I get her to change her mind about me? I literally blew that when I opened my mouth. Fuck…if only I knew my mother; she might have been able to give me a few pointers on what women want. I never think about my parents much. I placed their memory into a little box in my mind that I hardly ever open. However, from time to time, I do wonder whether they would have been proud of me and how they would have advised me in times like these.
I taste the metallic tang of nails in my mouth when I press my lips together. I hit with the hammer as if the nail is my enemy. I keep hammering until the next board is firmly in place. I shift to the next window and start the entire process again. I hammer with such abandon that I fail to hear Glyn yelling at me.
