Turning Point by Jeanie Grey
TODAY’S BREW: Chocolate cherry medium roast. Mmmmmm.
Now here’s a story to strip by if there ever was one by the delightful Jeanie Grey. Follow her on twitter @jeaniegrey. Get ready to sizzle.
by Jeanie Grey
The next day she gets little hot flashes every time she thinks about him.
The day after that, she finds herself trying not to Facebook-stalk him, settling instead for re-reading for the hundredth time the messages he’d sent her. They turn out to be less fitting material for fantasy than she would like.
She finds herself humming “I’m Not in Love” by 10cc: I’m not in love. So don’t forget it. It’s just a silly phase I’m going through.
“I didn’t know if I’d ever get you here,” he’d said. She was straddling his lap on the futon in the downstairs office of his house. His wife and kids upstairs.
Earlier they’d sat side-by-side at the bar, kicking around the idea of going somewhere to play pool, but she couldn’t think straight. Had been in a near-constant state of arousal for the last several days. Finally she just said it: “What I’d really like to do is go somewhere and make out. How would you feel about that?”
He liked that idea. Suggested the Gold Dust Meridian for its high-backed booths that shielded patrons from casual on-lookers.
She said it wouldn’t be enough privacy for what she had in mind: a certain amount of groping and possible clothing removal.
He texted his wife to see if it was cool to bring her home. The wife said yes.
They kept their jeans on but took off their tops. He blew air along her spine and she jumped. His hands were warm and large and patient as they moved over her back. Pressed gently into her flesh. After a few minutes his energy shifted. He gave up on the massage. Licked the almond oil from her back; brought his head down close to hers so all she had to do was turn her face toward him and arch her back a little, and their tongues could collide and tangle.
He moaned and panted. Inhaled sharply. Bit his lower lip or pressed his lips together. Smelled clean. Got excited and exclaimed “Fuck!” A surprised half-smile on his lips. Said he liked the way she touched him. Liked it when she bit and sucked on his nipples. Licked the corner of his mouth. Sucked his earlobes.
He said he’d been thinking about her pussy for weeks. Wanted her clit in his mouth. She felt faint at the suggestion, desire so intense. She’d soaked her underwear clear through. Her hand in his jeans. The head of his penis felt disproportionately large to his shaft. His penis seemed a good length. She wondered how it would feel inside her.
Their bodies seemed to like each other immensely.
At one point he said her name and she couldn’t believe how sexy it sounded coming from his mouth, his chest bare, his penis hard, his cheeks flushed with desire. His face was beautiful. She hadn’t noticed before.
She put her bra and shirt and sweater back on. He pressed against her backside. She leaned back into him and ground her ass against his crotch, then protested that she was trying to behave herself. He walked her to the door. Got his coat and put on his shoes. He did something magical with his shoelaces: tied them without seeming to tie them. Later she’d reflect on the trick with renewed awe, would come to think of him as a magical being. Like a unicorn.
Rolling around in her head for a couple weeks, since their last real date: If I thought for one moment that I was falling in love with you, I’d say good-bye and never see you again.
Even she recognized it as a sign that she was beginning to lose her conviction.