Fucking You

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I remember the first time I saw you. It was on TV. You were arguing a point and your arrogance took my breath away. You were playing Devil’s Advocate even though I knew you meant every word you said. It seemed wrong somehow to be seen to support your thought process and yet I got it for what it was, pure logic. And a dash of “lab-accident-away-from-criminal-mastermind” thrown in. At the time, I was a little younger and had been reading one too many Mills & Boons. I was also a virgin so I didn’t really understand that dark pull into your aura. You are the first person that made me believe in The Law of Attraction. I dreamed of you almost daily after that. Whimsical fairy tale like dreams. You and I dancing in azalea fields. Oh, the brazenness of youth. I fantasized about you for about six months before the cosmos once again decided to shower me with not only opportunity and access, but also courage and vanity.

My three girlfriends and I decided to play hooky from work one fine Monday morning. Dashing into a nearby bar, we ordered beers and started being little girls. We exchanged stories about workmates and family and slightly post-pubescent men. I miss being that reckless. Right now, I cannot remember the last time I ordered a beer at ten in the morning. Back to more innocent and optimistic times; in the midst of the girly chatter, your friend walked into the bar. We all knew him. He was another TV face. A rising star. He was also a world class whore. He made a beeline for our table as soon as he ordered his Redbull. I remember rolling my eyes and sharing a derisive giggle with one of the girls. Your friend, I am sorry to tell you, had (and still has) the “appeal of a pub loo at closing time”. He was throwing darts left, right and centre.

While I ordered my third beer, it suddenly occurred tuzla escort to me that you two were friends. Damn, what were the odds?!

“So dude,” I asked him directly, “where’s your better half, Michael?”

He laughed, winked at one of my girls and then handed me his phone and told me to find you myself.

I did find you. Do you recall our first phone conversation? I sent you a text and told you how I got your number and that I’d like to talk sometime. That right there was opportunity and access. I naturally assumed you’d be intrigued. You were.

* * * * *

The first time we met, we had torrid sex. Because of your work schedule and my campus classes it was hard to meet. We kept up the lust by sending very very dirty texts and voicemails to each other. By the time I saw you, I was positively fluid in the bones. You are roughly 20 years my senior. I couldn’t believe some of the things you told me! You could sound as dirty as my favourite video and as intense as Shaw. I do believe I was smitten.

You called me, asked me to skip class and come to your office. You had a gift for me. The previous night you had called me and told me about your trip to the UK. You were bored and needed something to pep you up. I skipped class and came to your office in the centre of town. After you had seen two people before me; and twenty minutes later than you had initially scheduled, your PA let me in. You met me at the door. I heard the lock click as I walked to the visitor’s chair in front of huge dark wooden desk. I haven’t changed since you first met me. Clothing wise I mean. As I often do now, I was wearing jeans, sneakers and a small tee. It was my favourite at the time; the pink one with pink panther drawn in blue that you like so much. Amazing, it still fits me. My phone was tuzla escort bayan in my back pocket, money in the front and some ID in the back as well. No handbag, no make up, no posturing.

You sat opposite me in the other visitor’s chair, the principal seat left empty. As an adult, I can read much into that but as the kid I was then, I was simply flustered. We chatted for a bit. You asked me about school and I vanished your vanity by telling you what a huge crush I had on you these last two years. Even then I was brutally honest when I should have been coy and alluring. I was gushing, never been taught guiles. Before I knew it, we were kissing. I didn’t like our first kiss but I bent you my way. You followed my lead as I kissed you the way I wanted to be kissed.

You know you pretty much raped me, right?

I can understand the thought process.

Young nubile girl.

Seeking you out.

Shows up in your office.

Kisses you, even leads the kiss.

Then you discover that under the jeans and tomboy exterior, she wears a sheer bra and no knickers.

I heard, rather than saw you remove your pants.

You came to me and carried me, placing me on the desk.

Your cock probed my pussy and I convulsed at that first tentative rubbing. You surged into me, breaking my virginity in the thrust. I can credit you for at least noticing that I was un-touched before you. You stilled deep in me and rocked your hips consolingly against the space between my thighs. I am a soldier, I endured it. I have no romantic memories of that episode. I remember you riding me on your desk hard and fast. Your cock sliding in and out of my cunt. The rubbing against my clit. You kissing me as I screamed into your mouth when I came on your thick cock filling me.

You had escort tuzla a meeting after. You had your driver take me back to campus. And you left me two gifts in a lovely black and silver tote bag.

*****

“Hey.”

“Hey.” I respond. The phone connection is bad. It crackles whenever I take a breath in. I feel myself getting irritable.

“I saw a picture of you. Who was the guy with his arm around you?” you ask quietly. I am getting used to this now. You are acting territorial.

“You missing me hun?” I ask instead.

“Not really. I was going through the papers and who do I see in a belt for a skirt and a handkerchief for a blouse?” You insist quietly.

I laugh out loud. Right before you said “blouse”, I was thinking what a cool sentence! How so very young! And then you say blouse and I realize I don’t even own one! A blouse I mean.

“I should be flattered but I don’t really like it that you find me funny.”

“You are funny babe, and relax.” I soothe you genuinely. I can hear your voice get testy in that last sentence.

“Hey, if you have time come over. I could use some.” I tell you after a few seconds of silence on the phone. I have been watching “The Tudors” on mute while we talked and watching Jon Rhys Meyers shout “I am The King of England!!!” (I have watched it a couple of times, I know the script pretty well) does interesting things to the points of my nipples.

“Can’t. I have stuff to do this evening.” You tell me shortly and hung up. I am stunned by the abruptness of the repeating tone on the phone. Shrugging it off, I go back to the kitchen and decide to cook for my girls back at the office. It’s been a while since I made them a home cooked meal. I cook like a dream when in the mood. I am in the mood. I do love it so when the girls gush over my food. It gives me cheap thrills. Cranking up the volume a little, I set about the kitchen singing along to “Bad Girlfriend”. Theory of A dead man, who can really resist their energy and humor?!

*****

To be continued……

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