by Lorin, Terra
“You’ll be happy to know, there won’t be any munchkins in mine.”
“Shucks!”
“Didn’t say it wasn’t going to be pervy.”
Her eyes go wide, and I laugh again.
“Okay, here goes . . .” I say as I take in a deep breath and let out a large sigh, “I met Sondra on a family vacation in Cancun. She was staying at the same resort we were at. One day, I stayed back while my family went shopping. Since I was sixteen, my parents didn’t worry about me getting about by myself. Plus, I told them I’d just stay around the resort.
“I went down to the beach to swim, and when I had enough, I sat on the sand and watched the surfers. A beautiful woman in a bright yellow bikini set down her towel about five feet away from me, and I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at her as she rubbed suntan lotion on her body.
“She caught me staring, and I was freaking embarrassed, but she smiled and held out the suntan lotion to me. I didn’t know whether she wanted me to put some on myself, or to put it on her, but I didn’t make a move.
“‘Will you do my back?’ she asked me, and I nearly choked. I was in shock that this gorgeous woman was even talking to me. As you can tell, I wasn’t as bold back then, and with this older woman asking me to touch her body, well, I was petrified.”
“Wow,” Laura says, putting a hand on her cheek, “I can already tell that my story will pale in comparison to yours.”
“It’s a toe curler, that’s for sure.”
“Go on,” she says as she brings her knees up and hugs her legs. “I’m chompin’ at the bit to find out what happens.”
But I pause as my mind focuses on Laura’s long, silky legs as my eyes caress them. I make her uncomfortable again, and she immediately curls her legs to the side of her. Little does she realize that this view I like better anyway, because I can cast my eyes on her torso, which in her sexy bra and panties, gives me a rush.
“Are you going to ogle me, or are you going to finish your story?”
My eyes shoot back to her face.
“Sorry, but you’re a bit distracting.” I give her a sheepish grin.
She stands up and walks a few paces.
“Where are you going?” I ask with concern.
“I’m going to put on my dress so you’re not so easily distracted.”
I jump up, and before she can get to the boat, my arms catch her around the waist.
“Hey, what are you doing?” she says with surprise and protest as I carry her back to our picnic area.
“You’re not getting dressed just yet. As long as I’m in my undies, you have to stay in yours. That’s only fair.”
I set her down where she sat before.
“Who made those rules?”
“Those are the rules for anyone who wants to stay and enjoy this spot. I think there’s a commandment tablet here somewhere,” I say glancing around, searching the area.
She gives me the eye and says, “And I thought I was a good bullshitter.”
I let out a belting laugh that makes her laugh too.
“Are you ready to continue?” she asks after her laughter subsides. She puts her knuckles to her hips.
“Yes, I am,” I say as I look into her eyes to refrain from ogling her body, while trying to remember where the hell I left off.
Chapter 11 - Laura
~* Laura *~
I wonder if this older woman taught Marcus the ways of lovemaking. I bet it’s every teenage boy’s fantasy to learn from an older woman. This is going to be interesting.
“You were at the part where she asked you to rub the suntan lotion on her back,” I remind him.
“Oh, right,” he says and shoots me a smile.
“‘Come, don’t be a chicken,’ she told me. I figured if this woman was going to allow me to touch her, then why the hell not? So I went over to her, took the bottle out of her hand, and proceeded to smear the lotion all over her shoulders and her back.
“She turned around to lie on her stomach, so that I could do the back of her legs. Obviously, she could’ve done them herself when she was sitting up with her knees bent, but she wanted me to do it for her.
“Well, I was happy to oblige, me being a horny teenager at the time. My encounter with her changed my life, I embarrassingly admit.”
He laughs at himself.
“Quite frankly, I can’t blame you. Any teenage boy,” I pause for thought, “hell, any male, period, would’ve killed to be in your shoes,” I say.
“We’re pretty pathetic, aren’t we?” His eyes smile at me.
“Yeah, you guys are,” I say, “but we love you for it at the same time, as long as there’s respect.”
“Did you get a kiss from her?” I add.
His eyebrows lift higher. “Umm, I got more than a kiss, I confess.”
Now my eyebrows lift. “You slept with her?”
“We got to talking for a couple of hours, and when it got too hot, she asked me if I wanted to join her for a cold drink and continue our conversation in her room.”
“And like a good little boy, you agreed?” I tease.
“What choice did I have? Do you think I wanted to look like a loser?” He laughs as he makes fun of my story.
“So what happened when you went up to her room?”
“I don’t know if I should tell you,” he baits me.
“Aw, c’mon, you can’t stop now. You’re killing me here.”
He has me where he wants me and finds it amusing.
“We went up to her suite and she poured me a soft drink, and herself a cocktail. We sat on the couch, and I felt awkward as hell, especially because she was still in her bikini, looking beautiful and sexy.”
I listen attentively, and I have to say that there’s heat permeating throughout my groin—his story’s arousing me. Damn. My panties better not show a wet spot.
“When she finished her drink, she scooted over closer to me. I chugged the rest of mine down, but I was so nervous, my hand still clutched the glass. She took it from me, set it down, and the next thing I knew, her hand was on my thigh, squeezing it, roaming the area until she finally rested it on my crotch.
“I nearly jumped out of my seat, and she laughed at my innocence, but she continued to touch me until I was hard as a rock. She leaned in and kissed me, tenderly at first, and when I reciprocated her kiss, things got pretty heated.”
My eyes transfix on his and I’m totally engrossed. My mind is playing out the scene as he recounts it.
“Without going into graphic detail, suffice it to say, we ended up in her bed. When I came too fast, she knew it was my first time, so she spent a few more hours teaching me how to make love to a woman. I sure learned a lot that day.” He laughs.
“Oh my God, what a wonderful experience for a boy,” I say, and meaning it.
A teenage boy learning how to please a woman early on is priceless. I think with some adult males, their egos get in the way and they’re not as receptive to having women tell them what to do and how they want it.
At least Keith was that way. Although he was a good kisser, he didn’t do it for me in the bedroom. His touch never took me to the heights I so often read about in romance novels. When I’d suggest ways for him to touch me, he’d get frustrated and defensive, saying, ‘What? Am I a lousy lover?’ and then I’d feel bad, and because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, I’d just let him do it his way, which never fulfilled me.
In the end, when I think about it, sex might’ve been what did us in, because it was important to him to feel adequate, to feel he was thrilling me to climactic heights. But he wasn’t, and even though I never said it, I’m sure he could tell, and it hurt his ego and pride.
For me, sex is not the most important thing in a relationship; there are far more vital aspects between a man and woman that should be shared for a relationship to work. But for Keith, sex was high up on the totem pole, so when he didn’t get it as often as he want
ed, or felt he wasn’t giving me awesome sex, everything else wasn’t enough, and our relationship fell apart.
For Keith, sex was love and love was sex. There was no separation of the two—one couldn’t survive without the other.
In the end, Keith had turned to a woman who let him believe he was the most awesome lover. Maybe he was, with her. Maybe we all fit differently, and we need to find the right partner that is the perfect fit for us. Who knows?
Unfortunately, my experience with Keith has made me wonder if all men are that way. Would it be the same for Marcus? Would sex be the most important aspect for him to love a woman, and what if we don’t fit?
A horrendous accident caused Marcus’ physical scars—my relationship with Keith caused me emotional ones. My scars hold me back from letting myself be totally vulnerable again. It’s why I backed off when Marcus and I were kissing in the lake.
Like physical scars, I don’t believe we can get rid of them completely. But I believe with time, and healing, the wounds hurt less and less and eventually they become part of our past that— although they stay with us so we never forget—we just don’t focus on them anymore.
I’m not quite there yet on the ‘not focusing on my scars anymore’ part, but maybe when I’ve found a new love who completes me, who fits me, it’ll happen then. We’ll see.
“Did you see Sondra again?” I ask.
“A couple of more times. But then one day, before our vacation ended, she was gone. She left without even telling me.”
“Oh my gosh, you must’ve been heartbroken,” I sympathize.
“Yes, I was.”
I don’t know what to say at this point. We’re both silent. Once again, he turns to look out onto the lake. I do the same.
“Shall we have our lunch?” he asks.
I nod my head.
He opens the basket and takes out the sandwiches that Angela and I had prepared.
After we finish, he pulls out the baggy of tarts. Angela must’ve slipped them in, because I know I didn’t pack them.
“Now, wasn’t it two of these for a kiss?” he asks as he holds up the baggy and grins mischievously at me.
“I’m upping the price,” I retort.
“Oh?” He has a look of surprise on his face. “And just how many of these do I have to eat?”
“How many of them are there?”
He counts them.
“Six,” he says.
“Well then, it’ll cost you seven.” I’m laughing inside, because I know I’ve one-upped him. I grin at him smugly.
But instead of my anticipation of watching his facial expression turn to disappointment, he grins fiendishly at me. What’s he up to?
He reaches into the basket and holds up a second baggy. What the . . . ? There are more tarts!
“Looks like Angela couldn’t fit them all in one bag, so she used two.” Now he’s the one who looks smug.
Argh. I can’t believe it!
But I think fast and snatch the baggy with the additional tarts away from him.
“This is mine.” I hold it tightly to my chest. “That’s yours.” I point to what he holds in his hand.
He makes a sad face that makes me want to laugh because it’s so cute, and he looks adorable with his exaggerated frown.
But then, as fast as he frowned, his face changes once more, and now he’s grinning again. This makes me nervous because it means he’s going to one-up me.
“Let’s wrestle for it,” he says.
Ack! What have I gotten myself into?!
Chapter 12 - Marcus
~* Marcus *~
Laura’s eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them.
“I’m kidding.” I tell her, and she lets out a sigh of relief. “Besides, I have a good feeling I may lose.”
“Damn straight,” she replies, and I again belt out a laugh.
Man, I can’t get enough of this woman.
* * *
“We’re back,” I yell out when we enter the foyer.
I take the basket to the kitchen, as Laura heads upstairs to get cleaned up.
The house seems unusually quiet. Angela must be upstairs. She normally comes to greet me straight away when she hears me call out, but maybe she’s in the bathroom or taking a nap.
I head upstairs to my bedroom to take a shower. As I pass by Angela’s room, her door is wide open. Normally, if she’s napping, she keeps her door closed.
“Angela, you in here?” I call out to her as I step into her room.
No answer.
The bathroom door is open too, so she’s not in there. I wonder where she’s at. Maybe she fell asleep on the living room sofa and didn’t hear us when we came in.
I go to my room and take my shower.
* * *
When I come back downstairs, I check the living room. Nope, Sis is not on the sofa. Maybe she got up while I was in the shower.
“Have you seen Angela?” Laura asks as she finds me in the living room.
“No. I’ve been looking for her myself. She’s gotta be here somewhere, she wouldn’t have gone outside.”
We walk to the kitchen together, but she’s not there either.
“Angela!” I call out, loud enough that if she’s in the house, she should hear me—but still no response.
We scour the upstairs and downstairs once more, but Angela’s nowhere to be found.
At this point, I’m frantic with worry. I look for signs of a break-in, but there’s no forced entry on any of the doors or windows.
Just as I’m about to call the police, my cell phone rings. The caller ID says ‘Angela.’
“Sis, where the hell are you?”
“I want you to listen to me carefully.” The voice is not Angela’s. It’s a male voice, low and gruff. “We have your sister, and for now she’s safe, but if you call the police or Feds, we’ll send her to you piece by piece.”
What the fuck?!
“If you touch her, I’ll come after you fucking bastards with an axe!” My threat comes out of my mouth from sheer instinct and not heroism, because this is way out of my league, and I know it. I’m not stupid as to deny it either.
“Well, tough guy, you do as I say and your sister will be unharmed,” he says.
“What do you want?” I ask, knowing it’ll be a ransom. How much, is the question.
“Five mill.”
“I don’t have that kind of money in cash.”
“If you want your sister alive, you’ll find a way to get it,” he says, his voice unwavering. “I’ll call you back with further instructions tomorrow.”
“Wait. Let me speak to my sister.”
Laura stands in front of me and her eyes stare into mine as she bites her fingernails. From hearing my end of the conversation, she knows exactly what’s going on.
“The bitch was in a panic so we had to knock her out again. What the fuck is wrong with her?”
“You fucking assholes! She’s got agoraphobia,” I yell, letting my anger control me.
“Well, we won’t have to worry about her escaping then, will we?” His laugh is almost evil. “Get the money, or she’s dead.” His voice is deadly serious.
The bastard doesn’t wait for my response; he hangs up.
Fuck!
How did they get her? They must’ve been surveying the house, waiting for Laura and me to leave Angela alone. Since they didn’t break in, she let them in, or at least opened the front door when they buzzed.
My heart hammers in my chest so hard my ears ring. Fear and anger consume me and my mind is in a whirl.
“Oh, Marcus,” Laura says, her voice cracking, and with tears in her eyes.
I stare into those soft blue eyes and a lump sticks in my throat—I’m about ready to shed tears myself, but I hold them back.
“They want five million dollars.” I run my fingers through my hair in frustration. “He said if I call the authorities, he’ll send her to me
piece by piece.”
“Oh my God,” Laura says with a look of horror on her face. “What are you going to do?”
I hesitate to answer as my mind races through my options. Yeah, what the fuck am I going to do?
In movies, the main character complies with the kidnappers, ultimately beating the assholes at their own game, rescuing their loved one, and kicking the shit out of the fuckers. But this isn’t a movie—this is happening in real life—and it’s happening to me. I’m the main character, and the fucking kidnappers have my sister. Playing the hero may just get her killed.
Even if I had the money on hand, handing it over to them doesn’t mean they’ll release her, because here’s the part that worries me the most . . . Angela must’ve seen their faces, or at least one of them, because she would’ve looked through the peephole when they rang the doorbell. If they were wearing masks, she wouldn’t have opened the door.
Would the kidnappers let her go if she could identify them? The only answer my reasoning mind gives me is—NO.
I’ve got to save my sis, and I’ve got to do it the right way. I need help with this; otherwise, I’ll never forgive myself for losing my sister too.
“I’m calling the FBI,” I tell Laura.
I see relief on her face. Seems that would’ve been her choice too.
Chapter 13 - Angela
~* Angela *~
What’s happening? Where am I and why am I here? I’m in some kind of shed. The windows are boarded up, and it’s dim except for the slight rays of sunlight peering through the cracks of the peeling painted wood.
I’m sitting on the ground with my hands tied behind my back around a post. I try to wriggle my hands loose, but it’s too tight.
My mind’s a blur and my head throbs. The last thing I remember is hearing the doorbell, looking through the peephole, and seeing a delivery guy at our doorstep. When I opened the door, he looked friendly, he smiled at me, but then his hand grasped my neck, and . . . and . . . I don’t know what happened after that . . . I can’t remember—I must’ve blacked out.
Oh my God, I’ve been kidnapped!
