by Marie James
That little morning surprise may be worth meeting up with her again. A good blow job is hard to find. It was damn sure something my ex-wife refused to do. Amazing for ‘Miley’ to just offer it up without even being asked. A frown spreads across my face, I’ve run into her three times, had sex with her, let her suck me off, and yet I still don’t know her name. The next time we speak is going to be very awkward.
It's Sunday so after my shower I drop down on the couch with my towel wrapped around my hips. I post a few pictures I took from the bar last night. A couple I have to erase, having no clue what I was thinking when I took them including a dozen or so of half-naked girls in cat costumes. Ridiculous.
Before I jump onto social media for the long haul, I shoot Sam a text asking about the dead woman. I can’t seem to get that shit out of my head. I can’t seem to shake that shit. I’m not fearful for myself, I can handle business if I need to, but the idea that the women in the complex aren’t safe is bugging the shit out of me.
He messages me back almost immediately, giving me the whole ‘open investigation’ bullshit, but he does text that it seemed personal, and they feel it is an isolated incident. The prick then proceeds to message that if I’m ever fearful for my safety that the ‘real police’ would be more than happy to help any U.S. Sailors that needed a hand with their sacs. I have no problem handing his ass to him but my CO may frown on it.
Fucking prick.
I hit the Facebook app and open my Messenger. Dozens of messages flood my inbox on a daily basis. I swipe down and see if anyone I actually want to message has sent me anything. I hit back a few Authors I’m working with for covers and follow up on a few questions the Photographer has about our shoot in two weeks.
‘Princess’ has sent another message: Did you have fun last night?
I know she’ll be able to tell I ‘read’ the message, and I don’t want to seem like an asshole, so I shoot her a thumbs up; just a little one, though. I don’t want to seem overly enthusiastic about it and make her think I want to hold a long conversation. She’s getting creepier and creepier with each message she sends, and the comments are getting out of control.
The three dots start working at the bottom immediately, and I close out of it. Lesson learned; no matter what they say, some messages should never be opened.
Notifications for my costume pictures are blowing up, and the responses range from simple praise of my choice to blatant naughtiness and a few that are just down right disrespectful. I ignore most but comment and like a few others. I’m slowly learning who I can engage with online without them becoming totally obsessed.
Other than pictures of people’s Halloween antics on Facebook, things seem pretty calm on social media. Maybe everyone else is still sleeping it off. I need to hit the gym but the chance of running into ‘Miley’ this soon after her leaving the apartment is not something I even want to remotely do today. It’s looking like some sprints and HIIT is going to be the way to go.
After a quick trip of Dixie leading me around the grounds of the apartment complex, I’m finally able to hit the road for my workout. There is nothing better than the feel of sweat as it beads up and rolls down my back, face, and arms. It proves not only to myself but to anyone who sees me that I’m working my body to its fullest ability. I keep my head low and focus on my breathing as I climb the last hill near my apartment at a dead run.
I realize too late that I once again should have worn black or my navy blue sweats. These that I have on are drenched, but there’s no shame with my swamp ass as I climb the stairs to my second-floor apartment. Just in front of my door is a small box. I stop in my tracks.
What are the chances of a bomb being left at my front door? None, right? Then again what are the chances of a woman being brutally murdered fifty yards from my apartment? I’m not liking the odds.
I take a few small steps forward and notice the emblem on the top is from my favorite local bakery. I know what comes in these boxes, but the fact that I have no clue who left it along with my solid dedication to drying out as much as possible before my photo shoot has me scooping the package up. I walk it back down the stairs and around to the backside of the complex and toss it into the dumpster. My resistance to the pecan pie I know was in that box would have been less powerful if I actually knew who left it. Since I don’t and have no desire to die if it was poisoned, it was much easier to chuck it in the trash. Who the hell leaves you pie without a note?
I make my way back to my apartment and unlock the door. Dixie is wiggling her long body, and her tail is going a million miles an hour. I’m walking to the bedroom to hit the shower when I can tell that the puppy pads have been shifted. I cut my eyes to Dixie, who immediately stops with the full body wiggles. I watch as she cuts her eyes at me and slowly walks to the far side of the couch. I see just the tip of her long snout poking out from the other side, knowing what I’m going to find under the puppy pad. Dixie knows I’m pissed.
I clean up the present she left me, which she so helpfully covered with the pad rather than actually using it for its intended purpose. I grab a fresh one and put it down for her, even though I know it will meet the same fate. At least, she does it on the tile. The one time I just gave up and decided to quit wasting money on the damn things I found a pile she left for me on a blanket that she pulled off of the couch. Lesson learned.
I whistle for her and watch as she sticks her nose further out, only one eye visible from the side. I crouch down close to the floor and pat my legs. She scampers out from beside the couch and runs into my arms. I love this dog. The bright spot of my day, every day.
“Did you see who left Daddy the pie?” She wiggles in my arms and leans her head into my hand so I’ll scratch her right behind the ear, her favorite spot.
I put her down and head into the shower. Being wet and sweaty while working out is one thing; keeping drenched clothes on after I start to cool off turns disgusting very quickly.
Chapter 14
Leia
I send him a message; he sends the tiniest little thumbs up you can get. I’m trying to remind myself that he doesn’t know that the online profile of ‘Princess’ is me, but that’s getting even harder when I watch him interact with certain others, and almost all of my comments go unnoticed. I tagged him in both towel Tuesday and wet Wednesday last week, and he didn’t even so much as hit the like button.
I wonder how he would react if I tag him in some of the pictures I took of him sleeping last night? I don’t because I don’t want to play my hand too soon, but I know those vultures online would go crazy for some of the fully nude shots I took of him. To make matters worse, he practically shoved me out the door this morning saying he had to go to work, and all he did was leave the apartment and go running.
I tried to follow slowly behind him when he took off on foot earlier but he was all over the place, and I was afraid he would recognize my car. When I saw his truck in the parking lot, I asked how he got to the bar. He muttered something about having a friend from the shop drop him off. At first, I was happy he took precautions for his safety when he’d planned to be out drinking but then I had to wonder who he would have gone home with had I not showed up. That set my temperature to damn near boil.
The further into this relationship we get, the surer I am that him coming to live with me is going to be best all the way around. He can’t seem to make the right decisions when he’s faced with difficult choices.
I somehow ended up in a parking lot when he started to run stairs on an old bank building. Bored, since I can barely see him sprinting up and down the stairs, I take the opportunity to look at the different shops the parking lot caters to. Directly in front of me is a bakery. I can only imagine how much better his day will be if I get him his favorite dessert.
I lock up the car and head into the bakery. After a very brief argument with the sales clerk over needing an entire pecan pie and not just a slice, I walk out of the bakery with the most beautiful pecan pie. He will surely be impress
ed with this bad boy.
I make the short trip back to his apartment and let myself in with the key I made last night. The dog wiggles and shakes when I open the door, but takes one look at me and hides behind the sofa. I hear her tiny growl not liking my intrusion.
Spoiled little bitch. Just wait. You’ll be history, and soon I’ll be the only female he loves.
I place the pie on the coffee table but change my mind knowing the dumb ass dog will get into it. I decide to leave it on the counter in the kitchen instead. Unable to resist I walk into his bedroom with every intention of lying on his bed, needing to smell us from last night. I frown when I clear the doorway and see that the bed has been completely stripped. Pain hits my chest when I realize that he immediately made the effort to not only get rid of me this morning but also any evidence of us being together.
It seems Matthew is going to be more work than I’d originally anticipated, but he’s worth it. In my somberness, I grab the pie and head for the front door. He’s not ready for me to leave him surprises inside his apartment yet and the last thing I want to do is scare him. Also, I don’t have any pin-cameras on me, and I really want to see his excitement over the pie. I opt to place it outside his door so I can watch his reaction to it from the parking lot.
I don’t have to wait long for Matthew to get back. I cut it so close I would’ve been caught inside of his apartment had the bed still had the sheets and cover on it from last night. I know without a doubt I would’ve stayed in that bed as long as I possibly could, and definitely longer than the five minutes it took him to get back to his apartment after I closed the door.
I grin uncontrollably as I watch him come up the stairs to his apartment. I love making him happy even when he doesn’t know that it’s me.
My mood darkens when I see him come to a grinding halt near his door. He looks down at the box and then all around him like he’s looking for the person who left it. I sit lower in my seat even though I know I’d be hard to spot unless he knew exactly where to look. I’m broken hearted as I watch him pick up the box and disappear around the corner of the building. The only thing on the other side of the complex is the trash dumpster. He took the pecan pie that I spent way too much for and just tossed it into the trash. I’m fuming when I pull out of the parking lot. My tires squeal, and I slow down not trying to draw attention to myself. I have to leave now, or I’ll make a bad decision, and I don’t want to do that where Matthew is concerned. If I don’t leave now, I know I’ll end up hurting him.
I point my attention and anger exactly where it belongs. Pulling into the back corner of the parking lot, I watched Matthew from earlier I wait for the woman in the bakery to close the store down. That bitch should’ve known better than to sell me an entire pecan pie. That pie ruined my entire day, a day that I started on cloud nine. She’ll pay for ruining it.
Chapter 15
Matthew
Most weeks the meal prepping and strict diets don’t bother me as much as they used to. I don’t really feel deprived but for some reason, I’m feeling off today. I can’t concentrate for the life of me, and there’s nothing I want more than a half dozen packages of Zingers. My fingers itch at the thought of tearing into a pack of those cream filled goodies. I sigh and put the lid on the last container of grilled chicken.
Dedication. Sacrifice. Dream Big. I repeat the words in my head and grab a bottle of water out of the fridge. I’m restless and feel wired, even after two pretty hardcore workouts today. With nothing better to do I hit the pull-up bar in the doorway and lift my body weight until my arms feel like jelly, and I’m past the point of being able to lift myself even one more time. I love the feeling I get when I push myself.
Monday.
I roll over in bed and stare into the beautiful dark eyes of my baby girl. After a thorough face cleaning, I grab my phone from the bedside table. I do a quick share of the care package I got Saturday, now all I have to do is cut the sleeves off of the pink shirt that was included in the box. I’ll rock the hell out of this shirt.
I make my way into the kitchen for a pair of scissors and realize my mistake when I cross the threshold into the living room and see the dirty old man looking back at me. Yep, he’s once again caught me walking through the apartment with my dick swinging. Giving up on giving a shit about it, I give him a quick wave and go about my business. At least my morning wood is still out in full force, so he gets to see me at my highest potential. I once again consider the Tumblr account. I don’t think that is a train my family will appreciate riding on.
Not for the first time, I think about moving out of this damn complex. It’s obviously full of crazy people who don’t know how to mind their business. For a brief second, I wonder if the old man who blatantly waits to see my cock on display will meet the same fate as the nasty woman who ended up in pieces last week. Then I chastise myself and say a quick prayer for forgiveness because that was one fucked up thought I just had.
After altering the shirt, I throw it on. No time like the present to wear it to the gym. It may be pink, but it's super damn manly now that half of it's gone. Well, as manly as a pink t-shirt can get anyways.
I grab an AMP out of the fridge and park it on the couch with my phone. Over fifty comments and two-hundred likes on the photo I shared just fifteen minutes ago. These women are loving some Hosea. So much in fact that the guys on base and at the shop are giving me shit about it. They’re jealous is all. What man wouldn’t want hundreds, if not thousands, of women falling over themselves to comment on my posts and wake up super early to tag me in the first man crush Monday?
I frown when I see Princess’ latest post. So grateful for some gifts and others don’t even register.
Seriously, what the fuck? This chick is so weird. Maybe I should make a list of the ones that need unfriending from my personal Facebook page.
Her posts had started out simple and sweet, maybe a little expectant of my attention; but this? Not only do I not have a clue what the hell she is talking about but this is rather disrespectful. At what point in a woman’s mind do they decide that they have control or the right to act this way?
I’ve talked to some other guys who had a ton of fast success on social media and they all warned me to keep myself at a distance because some of the women get downright rude and possessive. I’m getting incredibly close to blocking the not so sweet ‘Princess’, but I’m afraid that may make things worse. I plan to ignore her comment this time, but if the hostility progresses, she’s got to go.
My phone buzzes a text message, and I switch from my Facebook app. I don’t recognize the phone number, but the tits in the picture sent I’m slightly familiar with. If I had any doubt who they belonged to the long strand of purple hair over the shoulder is a dead giveaway.
Me: Makes my day, Miley
Her: Leia
That was easy. I thought for sure I’d have to be more covert about figuring out her name. I’m thinking that meeting up with those tits wouldn’t be the worst thing ever to happen to me. I decide to go ahead and lay on the charm. I don’t work at the shop this evening, and I can see spending an hour or so working Leia over as having potential.
Me: Beautiful name
Her: I’ve missed you
Ummm… that’s a little unnerving.
Ignore it, my thickening cock tells me, still impressed with the picture she sent.
So I do what any guy with a hard on would do.
Me: Prove it with another picture
I wait for what is beginning to seem like forever until the most incredible picture comes through on my phone. Her legs are spread wide, and she’s glistening like she got started long before I asked for the second picture. I nearly drop my phone at the sight of the two fingers pressed against her clit.
Me: Fucking amazing!
I reach down, no longer able to ignore the throbbing in my pants. I grip myself and slowly begin to slide my palm up and down my shaft. Texting with one hand, I decide to press my luck. After all, if she’s t
he type to send nudes over the phone, I’m pretty sure she’ll do anything I ask.
Me: What would it take to get an action shot?
Her: Show me where your hand is and I may make that happen.
No way. The last thing I need is a picture of me stroking my cock on the internet and regardless of who this girl actually is, if she ever finds out I’m modeling on the side, or I piss her off somehow I know that’s where it will end up. I give her half of what she wants and send back a picture of my hands down my sweats. I’m exposing even less than some of the other pictures I’ve posted online, and I know for a fact that pictures of models with their hands down their pants are all over the place online. So I’m not doing anything those before me haven’t done. Hell, I may post it later anyways. Beat her to the punch.
Her: Naughty boy
Me: And my reward for being bad?
Come on sweetheart, I’m so close.
My prayers are answered a short moment later. The short video clip is more than a man could ask for. Those two slender fingers that had previously been settled against her clit were now working themselves in and out of her glistening heat. The sound of her moan in the background sends me over the edge, my orgasm hitting full force causing my toes to curl.
Me: Oh, darlin’ that was perfect!
Her: Did I make you come?
In a moment of pure insanity, I snap a picture of the ungodly amount of come covering my stomach and send it to her.
Her: Good boy. Maybe the next time I can make you come in person
Well if that isn’t an open door I wanted to walk through.
Me: My place. 7?
I was drunk the other night and didn’t give her the full Matthew Hosea treatment that she deserves, and the video clip she sent really makes me want to get my tongue on her.
Her: See you then!!!
