A Gal Eerie of Desire
Jenny K Brennan
Part 2 of 5
Reader discretion is advised. This is for adult readers and don’t say I didn’t warn you. Enjoy.
Part 2 — Thursday exhibit
Fucking hot again, when would this damn summer end? I groaned as the muggy heat enveloped me. I stood still for a second, listened to the door close behind me. My head hurt, either from the heat or from lack of sleep. Or the half bottle of crown Royal I had almost managed to finish last night, that did it. Either way, I felt like shit. And that fucking dyke of a manager had been on my case all day.
Calm down, breathe. I breathed. It’s over, go home.
Go home and do what? Sit and pine for some woman I hadn’t even had the guts to talk to? Dig up one of two porn flicks I had hidden and jerk my poor limb to exhaustion and my brain to oblivion? Hell, if alcohol hadn’t done the trick, why would shooting a load in my hand do it?
I didn’t want to see her. I needed to see her. It was all wrong.
And there she was.
On the same spot, she was real. It hadn’t been a dream. The sight of her was like ice water in a steam cooker. A short lived relief, then the return of pressure building. The restless contents of my stomach tossed and turned, but calmed as I took a few deep breaths. I walked toward my car. The closer I came, my discomfort seemed to ease. The throbbing in my head faded into dull ache, gut rot settled and things looked brighter for every step. I let my shoulders sink and the city-spiced air fill my lungs as I glanced up at the cloudless sky. A fine day. A very fine day. So what if I was delusional and sick in the head? I just needed to look. Just for a moment. Just a little bit. Then it would all be cool.
I stopped at the curb and rummaged through pockets for something that wasn’t there as I took in the apparition. Burned it into my memory, stored it for later exploiting. I spared a split second to glare at the guy next to her. Was that the same one? No, this one was dark. The first one had been a Viking brute, blond and insultingly handsome. Yeah, I remembered now, taller than this little squib.
The squib had his arm around her shoulder, laughing, speaking into her ear. I felt my upper lip twitch. Funny guy eh? I glanced at her. She wasn’t smiling.
He shouldn’t be allowed to trail his fingers along her collarbone, aught to have his nose broken for touching his lips to her ear as he kept talking, smiling, spreading it on thick. Was she falling for the greasepot? Was he gonna get some?
Not until I quit glaring at the squib did I notice that something was missing. No sign of kids anywhere. And then I finally let my greedy eyes absorb her. The dress had transformed into a pair of blue jeans and a white tank top. I stayed at a safe distance and waited for a little while longer before reluctantly heading to the car. The jeans were a perfect fit, the top tight. Still no shoes. What was it with her and shoes?
I wanted to ignore her, but I was getting excited, annoyed by my inability to control my thoughts, my body. Burning, nagging pressure. A swelling needy cock made me self-conscious. A completely uncalled for feeling of shame over my evident need, made me irritated, at myself, and at her.
The way she looked should be illegal. That’s fucking soliciting. I stared as I made my way past. Her skin glowed beneath the white tank top. A red scrunchie, some old girlfriend had taught me that word, as if it was important, held her hair in a pony tail.
My fingers twitched.
I wanted to stroke her neck, trail the curve of her shoulder with my fingertips. Feel the warmth of skin where fabric covered it, just waiting to be removed, by me. I wanted to grab that hair like a leash, pull her close, push her down to kneel in front of me, and I’d push that need in my pants between her lips. Right there on the pavement, in front of her boyfriend.
Yeah, suicidal are you now?
I took a deep breath and almost laughed. Almost. The sudden violent streak in my thoughts surprised me, the aggression that snuck into the fantasy, where my want turned to need to possess. Possess? No, that was not like me. Couldn’t be my thoughts.
But hell, she was totally begging me to open my pants in her face and pull her head hard to show her exactly what she had done to me. Wasn’t she? It was so easy to imagine holding her head, having her look up into my eyes as she wrapped her lips around me, moaning, gripping my shaft with small hands, working that tongue. She wanted it, or why would she look at me that way. Why would she part her lips and give me that wordless invitation to take her, to force her to suck…
Damn right; the slut is asking for it! What are you waiting for? I shoved the inner voice down in the gutter at the back of my mind where it belonged.
The thought disgusted me. Women disgusted me. No, not true. Women simply didn’t stir emotion in me, nor did men. I was just… Asexual, a long faded voice of another forgotten girlfriend echoed in my memory. I didn’t know if that was true. I didn’t care, I didn’t want this…
Then why are your pants so very uncomfortable if…. I nearly choked on a groan and squeezed my eyes shut tight.
After fumbling with the key and viciously jabbing at the air-conditioning knob, I got the Toyota running, let it idle. The air in the vehicle cooled but the heat in my body wouldn’t be persuaded to let up that easily. She was still there, not ten paces away. I refused to look at her.
What the hell is going on?
I gripped the steering wheel and stubbornly kept my head down. Slowly, forced breathing became less strained, almost effortless. Thinking clicked into a frictionless gear, my irritation kicked up a notch as I evaluated the situation.
I didn’t know her. For sure, she was with someone that was not me, would never be me, and I was wasting energy and nurtured frustration for nothing. Nothing. And she knew it. She was teasing me, making me the fool with all the childish fantasies and silly ideas.
But the images wouldn’t leave me alone. Her mouth, red full lips parting. The body, the way she moved. The things I wanted. All the ways I wanted to fuck her. Fuck? Roger, when did you start using that word? I was losing it.,
When I opened my eyes and looked up, she was gone. Disappointment and relief fought an uneven battle within me, but after only a few more seconds I made my way home, trying not to think. Failing miserably.
How would her skin feel under that top, how would it feel to slide my fingers under the lining of those jeans, finding her hip bone, the stretched skin. Did she wear underwear? Would I find lace? Or nothing but smooth skin.
I shook my head. Damn you, who ever you are.
After failing to get anything done at home, finding myself in a distracted daze, I gave up. I turned on the TV, not bothering to find something to watch. I ate a lukewarm microwave dinner from a tray. Neither mindless reality-TV nor empathy numbing newscasts could do anything to sway my mind from the insistent daydream. It rolled, frame by frame, scene after scene, with only one star. As the TV droned on, I closed my eyes, unbuttoned my jeans and immersed myself in the fantasies.
So vivid, so clear were the images of her perfect shapes and the feeling of smooth yielding yet firm skin under my fingers. She undressed for me, eager and oh so horny, and offered me her body. All the time looking into my eyes, urging me to please her, take her, taste her, possess her.
Slowly stroking myself, leaning back on the couch, my greedy hands grabbed her imaginary hips, turned her around, and pushed her upper body down until she stood bent over the coffee table. Naked, sweaty, shivering in anticipation she stood with palms flat against the table top, exposed. Head down, turned so she could still look at me, she watched me, biting her lower lip, as I grabbed her hips. I stroked her back, circled her waist, gripped her and pulled her closer.
As in any perfect fantasy, I waited, didn’t want to hurry, and when I couldn’t wait any longer I slammed into her slippery warm depth. I pulled her hard, easing off and pulling out, as she protested and squeezed tight to keep me inside her. I slid into her again, deeper and harder for each thrust. Desperately taking possession as she tightened around me, urged on by the pimp/porn flick-producer voice residing in the back of my mind.
Oh yeah, looking good. Fuck that slut. So warm, so wet, so eager.
I heard nothing but her shallow breathing, whimpers of pleasure, and frantic begging. She begged me to fuck her, to hold her closer, harder, to take her. She was mine. All of her, I could do what I wanted to her. Anything. I did as she bid, dug my fingers into her hot damp skin and took her body for mine.
It was over too fast, a blast of exhaled tension and sweet release. Throughout my body, nerves flared in climax that turned into shimmering warmth, fading after each twitching aftershock, leaving me liberated of thought as the images faded. I squeezed my softening cock gently as I caught my breath. A moment passed and I felt free from the spell. One moment of bliss before I realized that she would never totally leave my mind. It was a curse. The fucking witch had put a spell on me. Trapped my mind, made me abuse my body, without even buying me a drink first. I laughed. Stingy bitch.
The laughter cut short when I bit down around it, suddenly scared of its desperate tone. I always thought I was better than that. I thought I had control, thought my life was perfect, but I had been so wrong. I was no better than any guy out there who thought their dick was a compass. I was just like them; I was easy prey; a weak male specimen with brains permeated with sex, sex and more sex. Any kind, any position, any place, just not any one. Damn her. She had gotten to me, chained me to my damn desire. She didn’t even know what she had done. Or did she?
I needed to see her again, just wanted to look. Just once more.
To be continued.
Will he? Can he handle it? What does she want? Or is it only in his mind?