“Doesn’t mean she doesn’t know about your dad. Some gold-diggers are pros. They do their research.”
“True,” said Jessie.
“It’s just so interesting that you even have lesbian gold-diggers.”
“You find them everywhere,” said Jessie, “Battin’ for every team.”
“Every league is their league.”
“I’m telling you,” said Jessie, “But what about things at Key Way?”
“You mean the new job or the other thing?”
“I mean both,” said Jessie.
“It’s like once bitten twice shy. But things are smoother now that I’m learning the politics. I just think I ruffled a few feathers and I don’t know if that kind of stuff goes away.”
“In my experience, it can but it depends on dynamics,” said Jessie.
“Well, we’re insurance, so we’re not that industry that attracts the best personalities.”
“Not true,” said Jessie, “You got Camille.”
“That’s true. She’s just that little girl enjoying her first job after graduation.”
“Good on her,” said Jessie, “What about Malia?”
“I issued a company-wide memo about it but just one. Not everyone in the company knew her. Plus, at the time she died she was technically an ex-employee.”
“That matter of fact, really?” said Jessie.
“Well, it can’t be undone. I can try and win back some of the managers at Key Way. I was actually accused of trying to be the new CEO because Hank is not around. But over time I think I can emphasize the fact that that’s not true. Malia’s gone in more ways than one and the police are on it. That’s the situation.”
“But what about the video and what about Hank?” asked Jessie.
“I thought about both of those. But what can I do?”
“Do you think that maybe the police oughta know what you know?” asked Jessie.
“I worked with Malia. It’s a given I know some details about her that the popos don’t know.”
“But what about the video files and her connection to your boss?” said Jessie, “I’m worried some of this might spill over, out of control.”
“That’s how I felt in the beginning remember? But then I realized there wasn’t any control. I didn’t have control of anything, anyway.”
“So you don’t think you might be in danger?” said Jessie.
“No, cuz I’m not extorting anyone. I’m just trying to be a good office manager. Plus, my boss was all business all day. If I’m still with Key Way, it’s because he wants me to be. He promoted me.”
“Yeah, I can’t argue that,” said Jessie.
“Plus, I got you to watch my back.”
“That’s your saving grace, girl,” said Jessie, “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” We stayed for a half-round. That means you pay a discounted price for a half-shot cocktail. You never get it half-price but you get half the alchohol content. It’s great for a last call because you get to drink and sober up at the same time. We swapped a few last stories from college. That’s when we had the most gap in communication. There was more to catch up on. Jessie saw I wasn’t really big on talking about Malia or Hank. So she didn’t bring them up again. The one idea that stuck with me was the idea of control. I didn’t know what happened to Malia. I just knew the result. I didn’t know anything about my boss either. He was gone for weeks. It seemed like the favorite strategy for guys, to be missing in action. Stefen was well-trained in the same arts. But Alex wasn’t. He emailed me Saturday to see if I was free. I didn’t even beat around the bush. I straight up told him I had no plans. So we made some.
Chapter Eight
Alex came and picked me up around 10:30 in the morning. We had no strings attached. He made no reservations. We went to Makaha Beach Park. Alex said he had only been surfing a few times. But he had his own board because he planned on learning. My board was locked in my storage room below deck at my duplex. It needed a fresh coat of wax but we were going just for fun. Alex didn’t talk as much as he normally did. I don’t know if it had to do with driving. He drove slower than most dudes I know. I thought maybe he was anxious. Maybe his surf skills weren’t up to par. That was gutsy. He’s the one who chose Makaha Beach.
The weather was nice. The view was better. Alex couldn’t stay on his board but his getting soaked had the same effect on me. He had like 0% body fat. He wasn’t so much jacked as he was shredded. You could see every contour of his abs. It was like a sculpture. He was Asian so he didn’t have much chest hair, which left his chest looking pale. Despite living in Hawaii, he didn’t get enough sun. It was the same with a lot of young professionals. But he was getting sun. So was I. Paddling out never needed to be relearned. But balancing on your board was like riding a bike. You didn’t have to relearn it. You needed some time to get the feeling back. I fell on my first two times out. Afterwards, I didn’t fall at all. Alex was never really on his board. Or his board was a balance beam. Staying on his board seemed like a bit of the supernatural. And he was human. I actually had fun. I don’t know about Alex. He did more swimming than surfing. It was a nice way to spend the day before the heat got crazy. We were in the water for less than two hours. That was actually a good run. Knowing what you were doing was all the difference. I would say I had nine successful runs and one real ride. Towelling off always made me hungry. Truth be told, it always made me realize I was hungry. For some reason, drying off your stomach always made you realize it was empty. If you towelled your back and your legs, you were good. But the stomach was the OH SHIT! That was what made you realize you were in the water burning calories, getting famished. It wasn’t like playing a boardgame. It was a different kind of fun. Alex was hungry as well. I told him I would treat him to some Island cuisine. The only issue was in was all the way back in Manoa that was about a two hour drive from where we were. More like two and a half hours given the way Alex drove. He was game so we drove.
“Are you trying to enforce some sort of Asian stereotype?”
“What?” said Alex, “Are you trying to tell me I drive slow?”
“Well this is a Volvo. Not exactly a performance vehicle.”
“Wow!,” said Alex, “You’re just all about kicking a man while he’s down.”
“Till he’s down, not while he’s down.”
“I’m not feelin’ so great about the surfing,” said Alex, “So I’m feeling pretty down.”
“Don’t worry. That wasn’t surfing, not the way you did it.”
“Jeez,” said Alex, “You don’t let up.”
“Well, you don’t stand up, at least, not on a surfboard.”
“Ouch,” said Alex, “Don’t make me turn this car around young lady.”
“That would be unwise. We’re headed back toward Honolulu. We both live out that way.”
“Point taken,” said Alex.
“I’m just bustin’ your balls.”
“Hawaii girls are always playing at that,” said Alex.
“Only when we wanna give you a chance to earn them back later.”
“Oh, I want them back,” said Alex. He took the bait. I took him to a place called Local Location. The name was a direct assault on Island culture. Hawaiians were like hipsters with indie music. We all had our favorites that weren’t known to outsiders. It was kind of a dive but it was cheap and it was good. It was big with the students in Manoa. And it was always packed, even during summer session. It was a perfect place to go after surfing. Your eyes were always bigger than your stomach when you got off your board. That was true for chicks. That much was clear. Dudes usually ate everything they ordered. But being famished after being in the water so long was always difficult to judge. It was a combination of burning calories, while not earning them back. It sent your body into a panic. It made you think you could eat the world. It made you try. That’s why I always ordered the 20-stack of glazed wings. I maxed out at eighteen. I never finished all twenty. I never asked for help either. It was the kind
of place that let you box things up. I always did it that way. Alex had ribs. And he didn’t use utensils. He manned up and used his hands. It was a small surprise because he was thin. And he had that modern pompadour hairstyle. Not that it didn’t work, it was just new age. I half expected him to order a tofu burger with no cheese. He had that vegan look. But he shocked. He ate like a lumbersexual. He didn’t cut the ribs to separate them. He broke them off, which left more meat on some than others. I like dudes who can just roll with it. He was just enjoying a late lunch. There were no complaints. There weren’t even comments. There were just questions. How are your wings? When’s the last time you went surfing? Do you miss it?
It wasn’t until we finished eating that I realized I did 95% of the talking, while we ate. I apologized for it. He said he wanted to hear more about me. That was classy. There was something very old school about Alex. He dressed and looked modern. But that was a must in marketing. Wearing a three-piece suit was classy. But marketing is all about trends. You didn’t want to look forty years behind the trend. I liked the dichotomy of Alex. He was uber-modern but he had classic values. He even opened the door for me. And it was a burger and wings joint. And he even ate his fries three at a time. I never really liked to see a guy be elegant with a plate of fries. That cautious attitude of selecting one fry at a time not to overstuff your face seemed out of place. If you really wanted to be elegant, you wouldn’t be at a place that served fries. Or you wouldn’t order fries.
We were both zapped from time in the sun. His place was about another four miles after dropping me off so I invited him in for a nap. It didn’t ring like an invitation. The summer sun in Hawaii was never a joke. People crashed in their cars on the beach with the windows rolled down. Some times we put our boards above and below our cars and just killed a few hours in the car eating sandwiches. It was the Hawaiian version of a Spanish siesta. It was common culture in southern climates. In the middle of the day, there’s nothing productive to do besides nap. I’m sure people in Minnesota would call bullshit and say we were lazy. We weren’t lazy. But we felt like it.
It got awkward. When we got back to my duplex, Alex came upstairs to my apartment but he didn’t come upstairs to my room. He crashed on the couch. I had to think fast. With dudes, you always have to seal the deal early--get your point across. I made the humble suggestion that he shower first before crashing on the couch. He did have a lot of ocean wilderness stuck to his skin. We both did. He agreed to shower first. I set a towel out for him. Then I waited. I usually soaked a bit to get the salt off. So I gave him two minutes. That was it. I had on my bikini top and bottom and jean shorts covering. It took me less than a minute to get out of it all. I still felt like I was clothed. Salt was caked up on my skin. I knew what I wanted. I knew what I wanted to do. But the motivation wasn’t direct. It was a concatenation. I wanted to get a look at Alex’s body in the shower, clean and complete--nothing in the way. I wanted him to get a look at me too. I wanted my body to disturb his train of thought. It wasn’t just stepping into the shower to throw him off. I wanted the carefully selected food; the time spent in the gym and the fact that I had boobs to weigh in. If I had to vote, I would say my body looked better at twenty-eight than it did at eighteen. But keeping the streak going till thirty-eight seemed like a roll of the dice. I’m sure as I got older, I would be more self-assured, more willing to let my hair down. My hair was down. But at twenty-eight, I was more about having ink dry. I liked done deals. I opened the bathroom door and had a feeling Alex couldn’t hear me behind the blue shower curtain. I left the door open. It wasn’t accidental. It was tactical. I expected to be in the shower for a longer amount of time. I didn’t want the room to fog up. I wanted him to maintain a clear field of vision. I wanted water to magnify the new-born tan I was sporting. I didn’t want him to miss a beat or a thing. I didn’t even peek inside the curtain to see where he was. The water came out of the shower head on the right side. So he had to be closer to the right than the left. I pulled back the curtain on the left side bracing against the wall to make sure I didn’t slip on the wet plastic basin. Alex jumped when he felt the presence of some one else in the shower. He Xed his arms over his chest, defensive. It was being wet, exposed and surprised that explained his body language. I had to reverse his shock-and-awe ASAP. I moved toward him, avoiding the temptaion to look down. I kept my eyes locked on his. My boobs talked their way passed his folded arms. His hands came around, literally. Both were grabbing my ass. It always played with me. Do more squats. That was the message from my ass to me. It was the easiest game of Grab-ass. His hands weren’t big. But they didn’t have to be, for my small hams.
His fingers engulfed every last bit of my booty. But he respected the fact that we were on slippery ground. He didn’t pull me forward in a fit of passion. He slowly tugged while stepping forward. I leaned my boobs against his chest and rolled my body on him. My belly button kissed his dick. That was the nature of the height exchange rate, belly button to balls. He had to lean in to kiss me. I could feel his shadow as much as his lips. His kiss was simple, a return to form. It was the way I imagined Golden Age Hollywood kisses. It wasn’t long but it was measured, sure for the camera. His hands went to my hips. He turned me around and pulled me back. His dick was still pointed downward but it was hard enough to send a message. I could feel my butt crack form around the width of his dick. He held me by the hips and spun me around. He slid with me. It was the first time I got any water on me since we left the ocean. Everything after that was instinctive, encoded on both X-chromosomes. I put my hands against the wall like it was an arrest. It was. He cuffed his hands around my hips. Then the moment came and held itself. The water pushed down over my back. But it didn’t change anything but its course. I was dug into my position. But all I felt was the water. I wasn’t in control. The water wasn’t in control. The moment was in control. Alex seemed to obey it as well. Because he didn’t play automatically. He just held his hands around my waist and did nothing. It was a timeframe. I could feel one moment passing into the next. It wasn’t that nothing was happening. I could feel the water, more patient than I was. I could feel the tension in my arms pressed against the shower wall. He pushed my hips forward forcing me upright. I braced against the tiles with my forearms. And then it hit. I could fill the flip of the skin on my purse as he punched in. There I inhaled. I held my breath while he crawled through my trench, laying his pipe. He wasn’t all that long. But his width let me feel the inches he did have. His dick was the perfect size for a virgin. It wasn’t anything traumatizing, like Longboard’s monster. It wasn’t so big to turn a girl off sex. And it wasn’t so small as to make her wonder what was so glorious about it. It did its job. And apparently he knew what he was doing. He rollercoastered that thing around in me. He didn’t just fuck, he gave my veejayjay shape. He went up with it and then around and over. Then he sped that dick across, from side to side. He literally rocked my body with his motion. Then he tried to punish me. He pushed his pelvis forward like he was going balls deep. My hips were locked between the shower wall and his pelvis. His arms came around like he was gonna put me in a choke hold. He did. His right arm folded around my neck at the elbow. His left arm came around and cupped the bottom of my left boob. I exhaled loud. My hips were pressed against the tile. They couldn’t go forward, only my skin streched. I tried to lean my head back so water could flood down on the tile. I needed the lubrication for my skin. But my head didn’t go back. He rolled his shoulders forward and pushed my head forward. I couldn’t isolate my neck with his arm locked around it. I couldn’t rotate it. I could just stare at the white tiles, water falling down my back. Hips pressed to the wall, that’s when I began to receive it--punishment. He wasn’t circus-thrusting anymore. He wasn’t entertaining me or himself. He was trying to finish himself off. He pushed in me hard. It was sharp like poking a fire. In reality, I could’ve used and extra half-inch but the tight wall began to flex for him. He wasn’t fucking me. He was giving me hard elongated
thrusts. I could feel the spritz of drops as he exhale through the shower stream. It was like we were wrestling. Arm around my neck, pinned to the shower wall, he had me submitted. The water was the referee. It told him when it was over. It started to get cool, even on the hot setting. The chemistry wasn’t so reactive to fuck in a cold shower. I took more and more of his bulldozing. Pressing me against the tiles each time, I could feel his width caught in my shaft. He didn’t pull out at all he just pulled back. And he took my hips back with him. Then he rocketed forward. Slamming me, and my hips against the wall. I had to feel his dick through the pain of my hips slapping against texture-less tile. My waist kept slapping the wall, until he just pinned me. He stretched like he was trying to get extra inches or extra innings out of his dick. My shit was flat against the wall and being drilled. I buried my forehead into my forearm. It worked for a while. It kept my forehead from bumping into the wall. But there was a blowback. My forehead bounced off the meat of my arm as he pelted my pussy. The running water didn’t seem to matter anymore. I knew it was there because it was there before Alex started hacking my lower nervous system. He just kept driving it home. Just feeling myself widening every time he pushed up into me was enough to let me know where I stood.
I was there to get his wad out; to get him laid; to get him empty. I was just a target for him to shoot at, shoot into. And he did. But it hurt, not on the inside. He pulled me back by the neck. It deflated my windpipe. Then he pushed me forward ramming himself in deep. Deeper. Deeper. My butt cheeks gave way. He just kept pushing me forward into the wall. I could see the whitening of my skin in my head. My butt was being flattened and stretched. I could feel the lining of my ass crack coming apart. It was just force coming at me. It felt like the beginning of an explosion. It was so hard and deep and my skin was giving way, on the outside and inside. I was getting dizzy from my head fucking my forearm. My head was forcing its way into my arm with the same energy that he did with his dick. When he shot his wad, he pulled back on my neck. It was reflex for sure but it cut off the airway completely. The shock of not being able to breathe made me blackout without losing consciousness. He released his arm on my throat. He slowly slid his arm away from my neck. The first few breaths were the hardest to get out. It was like an unused muscle. But it was moments not months that made it atrophy. It was a way of relaxing that helped me realize what happened. I jizzed all down my leg. I could feel the difference in consistency between the water running down and what else was running down. The loss of my breathing way made me lose control of my pent up pussy. My body prioritized. It reorganized. It let my lady loop relax because it was focused on breathing. I don’t know if that was a move he learned or what. But I kept going. I could feel the difference in temperature between the jizz running down my leg and the water that had run cool. He rubbed his hand down my back and stepped back. He didn’t say anything. He stepped out of the shower and pulled the curtain back. I was alone and waterlogged. My fingers were all alien-looking. I tried to examine it from his point of view. I didn’t expect him to be a cuddle-type. That would have been strange, on me and him. It was odd that he hit the delete key--just gone. I couldn’t hear him in the bathroom. He must have walked out. I left the door open. It made it easy for him.
Choppy (Desk Surfing Series Book 2) Page 10
