by Anthology
This time, she didn't start to cry.
Chapter Eighteen
Ian and I are going dancing tonight.
Really, I'm going dancing with Shelly and a group of her friends, for her birthday. But Ian will meet us there. It's our anniversary, after all. We met a year ago, tonight.
In the past few weeks, we've been talking every day. Sometimes multiple times. I should feel guilty about this, except that for the past year, all we've done is talk. Yes, sometimes the talk has slipped into flirting, but where's the harm in that?
In the shower, I smooth shaving cream over my legs. The razor strokes my skin, leaving it smooth. I scrub and exfoliate, wash and condition. Then, with one hand on the wall and my head bent beneath the almost-scalding spray, I run my hand over my body.
I imagine my touch as his.
Shuddering, I pinch my nipples to tightness. There's an answering pull of sensation in my cunt, but I don't touch myself there. Not yet.
There'd been a time when I was sure I would never feel this way again. Needle prickles of arousal all over me. When the mere sight of a notification on my phone could make my heart leap, my breath catch, and the sound of his voice, that low and somehow secret laughter, could make me want to writhe.
The truth is, I have never felt this way before about anyone. Lust, yes. Love, too. But never this powerful pull, this instant reaction of my body to the simplest of stimuli. Everything about Ian turns me inside out. Makes me needy.
I open my mouth to the water and imagine the taste of him. The stroke of his tongue on mine. I want Ian to kiss me so much it's all I've been able to think about for the past few weeks, ever since I'd casually dropped into one of our instant message conversations that I'd be going out with Shelly to the same club where he and I had met.
"Yeah? What night?" Ian had asked. "Maybe I'll see if some friends of mine want to go out, too."
"Sure, that would be fun." Oh, fun. Oh, foolishness. The right response would be to tell him that isn't a good idea, but who am I to say he can't go to a public place? "Maybe we'll see you there."
I will see him there, tonight. Will he ask me to dance again? Will he pull me close, nudge a knee between my legs? Will he put his hands on my hips and nuzzle at my neck?
This time, will I let Ian kiss me?
Oh. Yes. I will. And if he doesn't try, I think I will push him into some dark corner and take that kiss even if he doesn't offer it, because I can not get the thought of his mouth out of my mind.
The water is so hot my skin has turned red and the shower is thick with fog, but still I shiver. The water has washed away wall remnants of soap, but between my legs I am slick. My fingertips slide against my clit. The fingers on my other hand curl, nails scratching on the tiles.
I am no stranger in how to bring myself pleasure. I discovered the joys of orgasm in my early teens and there aren't many days in a row that pass without me making myself come. Climax is as important to me as clean hair and shaved legs, and there've been days when I substituted a ball cap and knee-high socks for those, but still spent a few minutes getting myself off. But most of the time, it's fast and easy. Self-maintenance, not indulgence.
This, on the other hand, is pure indulgence.
Slow, slow, I rub my clit in small circles. Every so often, I slide my fingers lower to push inside. I tease myself until my legs shake and I have to go to my hands and knees.
Head down, ass up. If Ian were here right now, he could fuck me from behind. All we did was dance once a year ago and talk for hours since, and yet here I am, imagining the length and width of his cock filling me. Shelly is fond of saying that you can tell how a man will fuck by how well he dances...and Ian is a really good dancer.
I could've come already, and in fact the water will soon run cold. I'm going to make myself late to meeting Shelly, late to seeing Ian for real, if I don't finish up soon. I think about edging myself close to the brink and stopping so that when I do see him, it will be with my pussy already wet, my clit already swollen.
"Wow," I mutter, voice thick and masked by the pounding of the water. "Filthy, Maura. So fucking dirty."
I've climaxed with the water pounding down on my clit before, but I've teased myself too long. The water is lukewarm now, not conducive to passion. On weak legs I turn off the water, towel myself dry. Run a comb through my hair. I rub my skin with scented lotion, all over, and add a matching body spray. Layering the scent so it lasts. I put my wrists to my nose and draw in a deep breath, loving the smell. It makes me think of sex, but then lately, so has everything.
Naked, I stand in front of the mirror and assess. I cup my breasts, lifting them. I have pretty lingerie to wear, a bra that will push my tits up and out, but even if I didn't, I'm not unhappy with my breasts. I flick the nipples again until they stand upright. The dress I've picked out for tonight is casual enough to look like I'm not trying too hard, made of t-shirt material. My nipples would show clearly through it...if I was so bold as to go without a bra. The thought excites me even as I curl my lip. I'm not in the habit of going without a bra. I'd think that was trashy on someone else. Yet knowing Ian could see that I'm aroused...
Fuck, I'm so wet, so fucking on edge. I pull lacy panties from my drawer, along with the matching bra, but I don't put them on. I pace a little, wondering what madness is this, that has made me incapable of making the simple decision about what to do next -- get dressed, dry my hair, put on my makeup. My mind's a jumble of images culled from porn and movies and my imagination and real life experiences, all cobbled together in an erotic collage that pushes me, finally, to my bed.
Most of the time when I make myself come, I use my hand. But I do have toys I sometimes like to use. I won't need the extra stimulation of my vibrator, but there's something else tucked away in bedside table. I haven't used it in months, maybe close to a year. I'm not a huge fan of internal stimulation when I play with myself; not sure why, just that usually I'm fine with getting off from clitoral stimulation.
Tonight, though, with Ian on my mind, I am open and aching with the need to be filled.
The piece I pull from the drawer is weighty. Made of medical grade steel, about eight inches long, and curved. One end is rounded, the other pointed with a series of ridges. That end is made to go in your ass, but I've never used it that way. You could probably kill someone with it, it's that heavy, and the sharp end could easily crack a skull. It looks like a weapon, not something made for pleasure, and that might be why I hardly use it, though tonight it seems perfect.
The metal's cold when I push the rounded end inside me. A low, breathy moan escapes me as the curved metal presses upward on my G-spot. It warms quickly from the heat of my body as I slide it in and out. I'm so wet there's no need for lube. It's longer than any cock I've ever had inside me, so long it presses my cervix when I push it in all the way.
In, then slowly out. Smooth, smooth, the metal unyielding, not at all like flesh. Maybe that's what excites me. Or maybe it's the flash I have of last year, dancing with Ian to something mournful and sexually tense by Kings of Leon. How he pulled me close, right up against him, how he smelled, how his hands felt on me, how his knee had pressed so briefly, so quickly against my crotch...
Then, oh, fuck, oh yes, that's it. I'm coming. Hard and strong, my hips pumping. I haven't touched my clit since the shower, but nevertheless, my entire cunt clenches down on the metal toy still pushing in and out of me. Pleasure bursts through me, leaving me weak and panting and trembling, but not even close to sated.
I get up. I put on my pretty bra and panties and the blue dress I picked out especially to please Ian. I do my hair and paint my face. I slip on shoes comfortable enough to dance in but sexy enough to show off my legs. And on the dance floor this time, when he pulls me close, I don't pull away. I melt into him. I put my arms around him.
This year, when Ian leans to kiss me, I let him.
***
Madge rapped on Maura's cubicle and popped her head in. "Hey, you! Just want
ed to see if you were going to be around for dinner. I need to put in the catering order before noon."
The office was having a day-long, intensive corporate training session, and to treat everyone, management was ordering in dinner. That most people would stay for it on a Friday night instead of booking it out of there to get home said a lot about her coworkers, and even a week or so ago, she'd have been one of them. But not tonight.
"Got a date," she said with small smile, bracing herself for Madge's response.
It was, typically, over the top. Beaming, Madge whirled into Maura's cubicle and plopped herself into the chair. "Tell me all about it."
"It's not a big deal --"
"Not a big deal? I don't believe it for a second. Look at you, it's all over your face!"
Maura laughed, self conscious about the heat flushing her cheeks. She put a hand to cool them. "It's just...a date."
"With someone special. Your first date, yes?"
It would be their first official "date." She'd been trying not to think of it that way. Too much pressure. But now she giggled, giddy, and ducked her head. "Yes."
"Good for you!" Madge slapped a hand against her thigh and rocked forward. "Is he your George?"
Maura wasn't quite ready to say yes, superstitious she might jinx it. "I hope so."
"Me too." Madge grinned. Then her smile softened. "Sometimes, you have to be ready to take a jump even when you have no idea what's at the bottom of the pit, you know?"
"I know. Scary." Maura gave an exaggerated grimace.
Madge stood. "Well, I'll go put in the catering order, minus one. I hope you have a great time tonight."
"Me too. Thanks." Maura waited until Madge had left before she checked her phone for any messages.
There was one. A photo text from him, a picture of a black limousine. Ian hadn't told her what the date would be, only that she was going to be surprised, every step of the way. Considering that they'd never gone on a date, she had no trouble believing him.
An hour later in the middle of the training session, her phone vibrated again. Another message from Ian, another photo. This time, it was of the front of a flower shop on the other side of town. Her heart leaped, and she grinned so wide it hurt her cheeks. Was he going to bring her flowers?
Corporate training had to be the most boring thing ever to sit through. Add to that her distraction over seeing Ian later, and the hours passed so slowly Maura thought she might go out of her mind. She was supposed to be paying attention to new policies and procedures, but all she could do was wait for the next message from Ian.
Another hour passed, and the next message came during the break. Management had provided doughnuts and coffee, and though Maura's stomach had started twisting so that even a thickly glazed treat couldn't tempt her, she grabbed at the coffee like it was a lifeline. She burned her tongue, wincing, and swiped at the screen on her phone.
This picture was a little blurred, off-center, and a bit harder to figure out. A green circle in Ian's palm. It looked sort of like the kind of air freshener you hang from the rearview mirror. That didn't make any sense at all. She peered closer, trying to read the text.
"Oh," she said under her breath with a small, surprised laugh. "Oh, that."
"Oh what?" Madge asked from beside her. A doughnut in one hand, coffee in the other, Madge looked as happy as a woman could be.
"He's taking me to that Brazilian steakhouse."
Madge ooohed. "George took me there once. It was delicious!"
Maura paused. "He knows I like steak."
"Sounds like he's really making an effort." Madge peeked at Maura's phone. "How much longer?"
Maura looked at the clock. "He's picking me up at six-thirty at my house."
That would give her enough time to get ready, provided she left the office promptly at five -- and woe to whoever tried to make the training run even a minute longer.
Madge winked. "Good luck!"
The afternoon session was interminable. The man they'd brought in to conduct the training was so enthusiastic he made Maura's teeth ache. He'd obviously had a lot of experience in motivational speaking, but frankly, policies and procedures relating to new corporate policies were never going to be interesting no matter how many stress-balls and t-shirts you air-cannoned into the audience.
The four-o'clock picture was of a movie poster.
This date, she thought, is going to be out of control.
At quarter to five, Ian sent another picture. This time, a puzzling one, of the sign for a veterinary hospital. With a sense of foreboding, Maura snuck her phone onto her lap so she could reply.
What's going on?
Rowdy ate some electrical wires and a bunch of other stuff. Had to take him to the dog ER.
How shitty would it be for her to ask him if this was going to change their plans? Pretty shitty, she decided, and tried to focus on what the team manager was saying in the front of the room. Her phone hummed with another message a few minutes later.
We're going for an x-ray. Shouldn't make me late, but can we push it back until 7, to be safe?
Sure, she typed quickly. No problem. Hope Rowdy's ok.
Nothing came through after that, and though the training did run a few minutes later than five, Maura no longer worried as much. She gathered her things and headed for her cubicle to get her coat and purse. Her boss, Angela, stopped her.
"Staying for dinner?"
"No. I have other plans."
Angela frowned. "Oh? The team thought dinner together would be a great way for us to talk over some last-minute questions about the training."
"I didn't sign up for the dinner," Maura pointed out calmly, knowing it didn't matter. Angela had obviously gotten a stick up her behind about the dinner for some reason.
"Oh. Well. You know the rest of us are going to be in the break room. Everyone else is staying."
Maura knew for a fact at least two others from the team weren't going to stay -- Jeff had to get home to his wife and toddler, and Mary needed to get home in time to take her kids to some school activity. But if she pointed that out, it would not only sound like whining, but Angela would be likely to say smugly that Jeff and Mary had excuses because they had families. Instead, Maura smiled blandly.
"Is there something in particular I need to go over with you, Angela?"
"No. I mean, unless you had any specific questions about the training?" Angela paused, then delivered the cut. "You were pretty busy on your phone today."
The problem with Angela, was that she was a bully. Or tried to be. Maura wasn't about to give her the satisfaction, but, on cue, her phone buzzed. Angela stared at her as though daring her to answer it.
Maura smiled. "I'm going to head out now. Have a great weekend."
But when she checked her phone, her stomach sank.
Still waiting for the x-ray. Doc's concerned about some other things. Still aiming for 7, but I called the restaurant to change our reservation to 7:30 in case.
She typed off a quick reply and finished packing up her stuff. On the bright side, now she'd have time for a luxurious soak in the tub rather than a quick shower. On the downside, her stomach was already rumbling. Waiting an extra hour was going to be tough.
At home, she ran the water and filled the tub with scented oil, then lowered herself into it. She kept her phone by the tub's edge in case Ian texted her again, but nothing came through. She took her time with pampering herself, even painting her toenails a pretty shade of red. Walking around her bedroom on the balls of her feet with cotton balls between her toes, heavy hot rollers in her hair, Maura felt like every stereotype ever made about a woman getting ready for a date.
At six-thirty, Ian texted. No surgery. Got meds. Will have to bring him back for a followup if it doesn't get taken care of on its own.
Gross, she thought.
Heading home, Ian typed. Need to drop off Rowdy and make sure he's ok, and jump in the shower. I'll be there at 7:30.
No worries, she typed
.
She concentrated on getting herself ready, though by now her stomach was eating itself and no matter how much pampering she tried to give herself, it only took her so long to get ready. The extra coat of mascara only took thirty freaking seconds.
Ready with everything but her dress, which she'd put on last minute to keep it from stains and wrinkles, Maura found a package of peanut butter crackers in her pantry. She was only going to eat one, but as soon as she did, every hungry cell in her body gaped open, demanding food. She hadn't eaten since breakfast.
She was just slipping into her stockings when her phone buzzed. She didn't even want to look at it, but the message was simple. Call me.
"I'm driving," Ian said. "Stuck in traffic on the bridge. Some car flipped over. I won't be able to get there by seven-thirty, I'm sorry."
Maura sagged onto the nearby chair and put her face in her hand. "Are you kidding me?"
"I wish. I'm sorry. As soon as I get past this part of the roadblock, it looks like traffic is getting better. And from there it's only fifteen minutes until I get home. I'll shower real fast. I promise. And still be there to pick you up. I changed our reservation to eight-thirty."
She'd expire of hunger before eight-thirty. Already, even with the crackers, she felt a little woozy from low blood sugar. "Maybe we should just..."
"No," Ian said firmly. "We are not canceling. I had this whole great night planned out, and we're going to do it. I won't be too much later, I promise. We can make dinner by eight-thirty and see the ten-forty movie instead of the nine. It'll be great, Maura. Don't...don't give up on me yet."
"I'm not giving up on you, Ian."
"Good."
An hour later, when her phone buzzed again, Maura almost did.
"You're never going to believe this," Ian said.
Maura, who'd changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt and had been nibbling on pita chips to stave off her meltdown, snorted softly. "Let me guess. You're going to be late."
"The limo company didn't get my message about changing the time. They gave away our ride to a bunch of bachelorettes going to Philly." Ian paused. "I can come get you in a Hummer, a '78 Caddy convertible, or a refurbished armored truck."
