Thirty-four years old, not a scratch on me.
Five miles, never flinched. I was almost disappointed. Then it hit me. I'm trying to kill myself here and it isn't even working.
I'm a fucking failure at slow suicide.
Or was I a mess inside?
I went to a doctor, told him flat out I've taken shitty care of myself for twenty years. I drink like a fish and the only green things I ate are the snacks on St. Patrick's Bar at Donovan's Tavern.
He couldn't find anything wrong with me either.
Good news, he called it.
I quit my job, headed south to Orlando with everyone else in the known universe. Wandered around the amusement parks for a couple of weeks until the cash ran low then decided what to do next. Came down to a coin toss. A bar on one side of the street, a church on the other, with a meeting. It came up heads for the meeting. I went for three out of five and five out of seven. Fuck it, still heads.
I gave up fighting the little dwarves in the sky or whoever it is run the universe. Off I went, trotting my ass down the stairs to the faded linoleum basement.
A half hour later I met Thomas and my life changed forever.
"Hey.” Brian's standing behind me. That chest is still bare and it's closer than ever. He's lean, he's yummy … he's … in my space and I'm not even pissed off.
I blush. “Hey,” I say back, using the same lips that wanted to taste that cock, the same lips that wanted to worship-correction, still want to worship.
"Something smells good."
"I hope you like it,” I blurt. “Eggs, bacon, toast?"
"My favorites. Can I help with anything?"
"No. Sit.” I let him have the head of the table, such as it is. “You take your coffee with cream and sugar, right?"
"Good memory."
I set the cup down. My hand trembles a little.
"Caroline?"
My throat is bone dry. “Yes?"
Oh, god, if he asks for my body, if he says anything at all…
"I really appreciate you letting me crash here."
"It was nothing."
"No. It was a lot."
I can smell him. He smells like a man. A little sweat, a little left over cologne. A lot of testosterone.
"If you say so…"
"I do. Why are you so nervous?” He asks.
"I'm not."
He touches my hand. I feel the heat, instant, paralyzing. This isn't right. Am I just responding to him because of Thomas? Is it all vicarious? Not that my flesh could tell the difference at the moment.
Come on, Caroline, speak up, and tell him to let go.
"Sure you are, you're shaking like a leaf."
"Too much caffeine,” I quip as he caresses my fingers.
My toes curl in reply. Bare toes. Oh, hell, I do not have enough clothes on. This is why I don't like men here…
"Don't make a joke,” he says sternly. “Tell me what you're really feeling."
"I am attracted to you,” I say, “and it scares the hell out of me."
Fuck, where did that come from? I am not attracted right now, I'm worried about Thomas. Period.
"There, was that so hard?"
"Yes it was."
"You're not really scared though, are you? I think you feel guilty."
"I refuse to be analyzed,” I declare, “By men who are younger than the sweaters I have hanging in my closet."
"Analysis isn't what I'm interested in.” He stands up, body to body. “And I really don't care about your sweaters. In fact, I'm not too keen on any clothes at all for you."
He's tugging up my t-shirt.
"Brian, no. What happened last night … it was the heat of the moment. We were both upset. We have to know our places. Thomas, your father, needs us, you can't betray that."
"I'm not betraying anything, Caroline, I'm following my feelings. Tell me you don't have the same?"
"I don't."
"Is that the truth?"
My shirt is off; he tosses it onto the floor. I cover my breasts. “It is,” I insist.
"I think you're lying.” He cups my ass cheeks through my shorts. “I wonder if a spanking would change your story?"
"No one does that to me,” I squirm.
"Except for him, I know.” Brian kisses me. There's big trouble here; this won't end well.
"Let go of me. This is just some game to you, isn't it? Competing with the old man? Well I'm not a prize."
He doesn't let go. “I am not doing anything but living in the moment. I have to have you, I wanted you the second I saw you, Caroline, you're so beautiful."
"Stop saying that. You think you're being clever, you're just immature."
I punch at his chest, he does back off, but by then I start to cry. Oh, shit, I don't want to do this in front of him.
He holds me, not at all awkward. “I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I push too hard. I always do that."
"No,” I don't want him to bear anymore guilt than he might already. “It's obvious, we are connecting. I just, I just can't right now."
"I know.” He kisses my neck. “I'll stop."
He doesn't stop. His hand slips inside my shorts and into my pussy. I sigh against him, I encourage, I move, I writhe.
"Yes,” his voice is husky, I feel his confidence grow, like his hard on. “It is right. You do need it."
I come for him, just like that, a hot and helpless little slut, climaxing at the wrong time, the wrong place with the wrong man, and then before you know it we are into it too deep, me over the kitchen table, my breasts squashed, face down, the juices dripping down my leg wanton and blatant.
It all happens so fast; he strips his clothes off. He tells me my body is talking to him, I need to let him do this to me, to show me what can happen between us. I ask if he has protection, at least? Yes, there's a condom in the pocket of his jeans, he swears it's a coincidence, and I guess it is, he only met me last night.
I'm still spasming from before as he enters me, his cock just as hard as I imagined it would be, watching him pleasure himself.
"Oh, god … yes … no…” I am so fucked up.
He puts a hand on my back to steady me and I want to rebel-this is too intimate for my liking, much more so than fucking.
This is relationship stuff, communicating needs and trying to gauge mine.
This … will … not … end … well.
I push my ass up in protest. He takes my hips and takes control. His cock retracts half way and then fills me again. My muscles conspire; they turn complete traitors, contracting, cooperatively, greedily around him.
My whole body is tensing and releasing, a billion times a second, it's happening, I'm going to climax again.
His cock is moving like lightning. I hear the grunts of pure animal joy, pure male.
I make one final effort to hold back, silly little woman that I am. He senses the resistance and slaps my ass. Just one time, just hard enough to open the floodgates and I explode all over him, all around him, all through him.
Brian releases his own pent up orgasm simultaneously, filling the tip of the condom. He is hot like fire, he pulses and I catch myself wishing I could just take his come inside me … letting him brand me and mark me … that would make things interesting wouldn't it?
I push him off me as quickly as I can. I still feel him in me; my ass tingles and is warm where he laid his hand. I am so in over my head. “This can't happen again, is that clear?"
"Not unless you want it, too."
"I don't want it to,” I insist. “And wipe that look off your face."
"What look?"
"That ‘I just fucked an older woman and I can do it again any time I like,’ look."
"Not unless you want me to,” he repeats.
"I don't,” I say right back. “Not ever."
"There isn't a problem then,” he pads off to the bathroom.