Dumb Luck

by J G Jerome

  She responds, “Trina dot Laughlin at WinterGroup.org. Am I going to need a cold shower after I read it?” she chuckles.

  “Maay-beeee.” I forward the message to her and add her email onto her contact record. Then I delete all the commercial crap in my box. “Done!”

  I look up to see Trina sitting on the corner of the bed with her legs crossed, reading something on her phone. She still hasn’t put on a stitch of clothing, “I must say I approve of the view.”

  She looks up and gives me a brilliant smile. “I’m glad you’re pleased, sir.” With her eyes locked on mine she sucks her lower lip under her teeth.

  I set my iPad down and stalk to her. I lift her chin as she watches me use my thumb to pull her lip out of her mouth. I bend over and suck her lip into my own mouth. She gasps as I bite down gently. She sets her phone down, wraps her hands around me, and drags me backward as I hold onto that lip. I fall down on her, letting go of her lip as she opens her mouth to draw me into a deeper kiss. She pushes on my shoulder, so I grab her and roll onto my back bringing her with me. We nibble on each other’s lips and play tongue tag while I get to caress her strong, lean back and firm, round tushy.

  She stops the kisses and leans up to run her fingers through my hair. She says, “the last time we did this, we were interrupted.”

  “Not until you tell me you’re ready, Beloved,” I tell her. She nods with a gentle smile on her face while doing a detailed survey of my mine with her eyes and fingers. “Earlier in Cherry you said you wanted to discuss our attraction this evening. I think I got the main message loud and clear in the shower. Do you want to talk any more?”

  With a kiss she responds, “After that, I don’t know where to start. I love talking with you. You make every moment we’re together fun...assuming we’re not in combat.” We both chuckle at that. “I could never imagine going on a dinner and dancing date at all, let alone with a man.”

  She continues her survey of my face for a full minute. “Let me try it this way. Myra loves me unconditionally, respects me, and values my opinions. Talking to Myra is safe, but we are always careful about who sees us together, what behaviors we display publicly, what we talk about around whom, etcetera.”

  “Being with you is so, so different. You treat me like a friend or buddy, but with this safe flirtatious vibe as a bonus. Then suddenly you give me one of those smouldering looks that make me clench and weep between my legs. At that point, all I want you to do is tie me up, dominate me, and take your pleasure from me without asking for permission. Then I think of this huge, strong man touching me sexually, and I get very afraid simply because of the overall size of you and the existence of Little Jack.”

  She pauses for a moment. I keep caressing her back as she continues.

  “When I first met you, I was only worried about you hurting Myra. It became clear very quickly that you were one of the few people I could trust with her. She picked up on it too. I’ve made love to Myra hundreds of times. I’ve been nearby when her suitors come to call or she’s entertaining a toy. I’ve rarely heard her moan out loud, and never have I heard her scream her passion. Actually, she’s never heard me, either. Regardless, we always have to be on guard to ensure no one knows how close we really are - so they don’t try to use me against her.”

  I kiss her chin, and wait for her to continue.

  “Then we went to your house, I finally heard my lover let herself go. I was flabbergasted. If it had been the one time, I would have shrugged it off and gone to sleep. But that wasn’t to be. Over and over she screamed out her passion as though she had been holding it for all the years we were together. I finally got out of bed and went for a cup of chamomile. I sat in the corner, relaxing and enjoying the warmth and smell of the tea. Then I heard you push her up against the door, and I lost it. The first boom of you driving into her was my undoing. I set the tea on the floor, propped my feet on the chair, and closed my eyes. I felt that pounding of the door in my chest as my hands caressed my pussy. I imagined it was me you had pinned against that door, using me harshly while I couldn’t move, making me surrender to you. I saw you. I smelled you. I rarely masturbate, and when I do the orgasms don’t leave me satisfied. That lovely blue shirt you loaned me caressed my skin, and when I heard Myra scream I came hard. Then your shout took me over the edge again. Myra’s and your shouts amplified my orgasm, and I soaked that lovely blue shirt with my juices. It was as strong as the mind-blowing orgasms Myra gave me. Just the thought of you dominating me. As I rode my way down off my bliss, I started to freak out a bit as I realized for the first time in my life it wasn’t Myra fueling my fantasy. It was you.”

  I let my caresses travel from her neck to the tops of her thighs. I ask, “The smell of chamomile and sex - both were you?” She nods. “So this morning wasn’t the first time you saw me naked?” She grins and shakes her head.

  “Hmm,” I say. After a pause I tell her, “I’ll never wash that shirt again.”

  She laughs, “Too late. It should be clean already. I’ll check in a minute when I put my soiled clothes in.” I open my mouth to ask how that happened, but she puts her hand over my lips. “All will be clear soon, Jack Darling.”

  Trina continues, “When you went all Dom in the kitchen this morning, I almost went back to my room to rub another one out. Fortunately, I got myself under control before I went down to the SUV. You might have caught me in the act otherwise,” she says with a little self-deprecating laugh.

  “Seriously Jack, I’ve been confused all day. I’ve been drawn to you all day while being repelled by the idea of being attracted to a man. Had you been female, we would have made love in the woods outside Prescott.”

  She stares down at me with a gentle smile. “Tonight you treated me like your girlfriend. You acted as though I were the only person in the world that mattered. You treated me like a treasured friend and lover. I felt like I belonged to you. I liked it. I crave more of it. I am Myras. I want to be yours, too.”

  She kisses me, and I revel in it.

  I hear her phone ping. She looks up. “Text?” I ask.

  She nods. “I’m expecting one from Myra.” She kisses me quickly, “Excuse me, Jack.”

  Trina rolls off me and checks her phone. “Fifteen minutes,” she says. “Let’s take care of the laundry, and then I will need to start spinning up our comms channel. Let me have your dirty clothes, and I’ll have them ready for you in the morning.

  I get up and retrieve the plastic bag and the hanging shirt and jeans. Trina takes the shirt, looks at me, and inhales from it deeply. “It smells like you, not stinky. May I wear it tonight?”

  “Of course, Trina. I have one other flannel shirt, one t-shirt, two boxers, and two pairs of jeans for the laundry.”

  “And I have my battle togs and dress from tonight,” as she lays a folded piece of black cloth on the bed. She unfolds it until it's a two by three foot rectangle. Grabbing the two corners nearest her, she unfolds it again to reveal what looks like a wooden, twelve-inch deep box inside. She pulls a stack of folded garments out and puts our combined dirties in an orderly stack inside the box.

  She goes to the desk and neatly writes a short note on the provided pad. Then she retrieves the bag of bread, withdraws one slice, securely closes it, and sets the bag and the note on top of the laundry. After knocking on the wooden side of the box, she folds the cloth back into the same tight bundle it was originally. That goes back into her duffel, and out comes another with a different ribbon around it. She unfolds it in a similar manner and then puts the stack of garments from the first bag / box inside it. She caresses a familiar blue plaid flannel shirt on top with a fond look.

  “Keep it. It looks better on you. Besides, it's ruined now that it doesn't smell like you.”

  She offers, “I could christen it for you again.” She looks up at me sideways with a small shy grin.

  “You could, but I would have to take a cold shower to keep to your schedule.” She throws her head back and laughs. “That�
�s your plan, isn’t it. You are going to tease and torture me incessantly until I fire off a premie as soon as I finally take you! Oh! You ornery vixen!” I reach out and tickle her.

  She cackles in laughter, falling onto the bed in a fetal position and trying to roll away. She ends up rolling off the bed onto the floor, managing to curl into a ball while still laughing uproariously. I squat down and scoop her into a bridal carry. I take a seat on the chaise and fold her into my lap, nuzzling her neck, ears, and cheek gently while stroking her hair.

  Feeling Little Jack trying to poke a hole in my boxers to get her, Trina shifts to create a little breathing room for him. I think she’s being merciful until she reaches down to caress him through my boxers. “Patience, Little Jack! Soon I will be yours,” she coos.

  I chuckle, “You really don’t understand the first thing about the psychology of a penis, do you? Patience is not something the penis understands. The penis’ mentality is kinda like, ‘There’s pussy available. Why aren’t I inside it already?’ It’s like telling a dog to wait for food while you’re eating. Does not compute.”

  Her laughter about makes her fall off my lap. She gives me a kiss and then gets up, “Maybe I better put that shirt on.”

  “It seems a shame to cover all that perfect feminine form.”

  “Oh really?” she says. So she stops and strikes a few poses and then grabs the grey plaid flannel, and fastens the two buttons just underneath her breasts. Then she strikes a few more poses. “That should give you enough peeks to keep you interested without being a total distraction.”

  She folds up her little black cloth box and puts it back in the duffel as I shake my head, “I don’t know. Getting the little teases might be even more distracting. I’ll be waiting with bated breath for the next little glimpse of heaven.” I turn serious for a moment. “Trina, I assume you have heard this many times before, but it bears repeating. You are a gloriously beautiful woman in every sense of the word. You need to hear it.”

  She chuckles as she places another bag on the bed. It has a different color ribbon. She crawls back into my lap as she smirks, “I bet you said the same thing to Myra.”

  “Myra is perfectly beautiful in her own way. Don’t take this wrong, but when I first saw you in the airport I was struck by your beauty. I remember thinking, ‘If Myra weren’t here, no one would notice anything other than that gorgeous blond.’ Myra’s beauty is very classic and compelling. She has a magnetic, charismatic quality to her that draws the eye and draws people to her. I suspect that’s a large part of why she gets accosted so frequently.” Trina kisses my cheek as she nods her understanding. I continue, “You are a whole different animal. Your form is the perfection of a female athlete. You look sleek and dangerous, and you have an almost feral air to you at first approach. I suspect people’s first reaction to you is to be cautious or afraid - maybe even to run. It’s like an armor you wrap around yourself. I only got to see inside it because Myra pried it open to give me a peek. You kept trying to batten the hatches, and she would pry them open again. I don’t think you really let me in until we met with KC.”

  She nods, “I was inclined to lighten up after the battle, but we were both very focused on Myra’s safety. After the little rest break in the parking lot, seeing how you drew me in to comfort her finally convinced me that you weren’t trying to steal her from me and made me think you might care about my feelings, too. After that it’s just been a slow ‘opening of the kimono,’ so to speak.”

  She hops up. “I need to prepare. Maybe you should sit on the bed. This is actually elven magic melded with our abilities. I’m going to explain it to you, but you can’t tell anyone about it,” she looks at me while I move to the bed with my iPad.

  “On my honor, dear Lady.”

  Trina adds, “Another thing” She stops what she’s doing and writes on the notepad again. Coming to where I’ve perched myself against the headboard she shows me the note. “‘‘Lady’ is the official title of the crown princess, or heir apparent, of a Faerie court. This,” pointing to the words ‘Winter Lady,’ “is the title for Myra.” She writes ‘Winter Queen’ and ‘Queen of Air and Darkness’ on the pad. “These are the titles for Myra’s mother - don’t speak either of them! You may draw her attention, and I really don’t want that for you! Or me for that matter.”

  “So,” I drawl, “the other season has a similar impact on the sovereign over the douchebags from yesterday.”

  She nods, “Yes. If you like fantasy literature, the concise explanation on James Butcher’s fan page is about as accurate of a summary as you can find. Megan’s girlfriend told us about it one evening.” She pulls a stack of one-foot square tiles out of the back and lays them on the floor in a square shiny side up.

  I nod back, “I do actually like fantasy literature. As far as stories of the fae, I think I am probably behind on Harry Bosch by a couple of books - White Knight was the last one I read. I think I’m up-to-date on Laurell K. Hamilton’s Merry Gentry series, but maybe not.” The tiles appear to be mirrored. She checks the configuration in which she has them laid out.

  While she’s working, I keep blathering away. “I recently re-read Emma Bull’s Battle for the Oaks. I remember googling stuff about Faerie a couple of times, but the traditional myths all seem a little out there. I’m sure there are kernels of truth, but it leaves you wondering how many of the stories were instigated by practical jokers rather than tricksy fae.”

  “That’s fair,” she says. “All the talk about ‘ugly fairies’ is a little goofy. The people of Faerie are attracted to beauty. There may have been more ugly fae thousands of years ago, but breeding with the pretty ones of their kind that will agree is the norm. Goblins and the Sluagh are the notable exceptions.” She takes another object out of the bag, and draws it around the perimeter of the tiles as she continues to explain. “Goblins in all their varieties tend to be more attracted to strength and battle prowess. A female goblin is more likely to stay with a blooded warrior that rapes her than a kind, attractive male that tries to woo her.” She depresses a button on the top of the device in her hand and the tiles fuse together, wrapped in a frame of light with that moonglow quality I associate with Trina and Myra’s abilities. “Even so, muscular physiques, balanced and proportional faces, and unblemished skin, other than battle scars, are still considered beautiful. Battle scars and sharp tusks are considered very desirable among all goblins species other than hobgoblins. They are an exception in almost every way to other goblins. Genetically they may not be goblins at all.”

  Trina checks to ensure the door to the balcony is latched, and surveys the room until her gaze lands on the darkest corner. “The Sluagh are a whole other can of worms. The term ‘Sluagh,’ which incidentally has a mainly silent ‘gh’ on the end of it - or swallowed like the elven apostrophe, translates from the Celtic languages into ‘the host.’’ She slides the chaise around until it’s a couple feet from the wall in any direction and turns it to face the darkest corner. “The correct name is ‘Sluagh Sidhe’ or ‘Fairy Host,’ and they are sometimes referred to by their most famous, or notorious if you prefer, activity - ‘the Wylde Hunt.’” She sits on the chaise and leans over the mirror, then stops for a moment.

  “Jack, you know I really loved being a teaching assistant in grad school - sharing my knowledge with those eager to learn it. Or alternatively crushing the insipid twits that didn’t pay attention,” she adds with grin.

  I shrug, “I suspect that your students had better retention if you were wearing a lab coat. Otherwise they would have only paid attention to your perky tits and tight ass.” I give her a wink, and she responds by crossing her eyes and sticking her tongue out. We both laugh at that.

  She looks at the clock, “Okay, perv. Schools out for now. If you’re a good boy, teacher will tutor you later.”

  “It’s been a damned long time since I was a boy of any sort,” I grouse.

  “You’re telling me,” she grins. ‘Score Trina 2, Jack 0!’ I give
her my absolute best eye roll.

  Trina leans forward in the chaise grasping the device in both hands over the mirror. Her eyes start to glow and the shadows in the corner coalesce into a shroud of darkness that sails across the room and wraps around her body. All I see of my beautiful lady is her hands sticking out of the shroud. ‘I guess that explains why I didn’t see her last night.’ Then she twists the device sharply, and the tiles form into a complete mirror, which pulses slightly. Her hands disappear inside the shroud for a couple of minutes without anything else happening. At that point I hear an audible click, and the shroud of darkness fades as I see her face frowning. She presses the button on top of the device causing the frame to disappear and the mirror to return to tiles.

  She looks up at me, “Something must have happened. Hand me my phone please, Jack.” I get it off the corner of the bed and walk it around the mirror to give it to her. She checks her messages as I resume my spot on the bed. She points at the tiles, “I bought those at Home Depot.”

  “I’m sure the function pack was in a kit next to the tile adhesives, right?” We have a chuckle.

  “Elven magic. Notice how this device looks and functions like the one I used to clean the SUV?” I nod. “I’m not sure exactly how it works, but for this application the devices come in pairs. The button on top allows you to draw a perimeter around any reflective object and then turn it into a perfect mirror. It uses the innate magical energy that fuels my abilities to create the frame and perfect the mirror. Twisting it causes the device to pair with its mate, and once connected, to send my projection through to the mirror on the other side. Myra and I use shadow projections as that is the innate nature of our energy. Since Myra didn’t trigger her device mine timed out. If it hadn’t, then my shadow would fall into the front half of the mirror and Myra’s would have risen from the back.”