I was writing one night with the back door open.
The heat wave had broken, but my place still got pretty warm.
I get a nice cross breeze after dark, so it cools off quicker.
Somebody knocked rudely at the screen door, a moment later I
heard Jean's voice.
'Ha-looooooo?'
And then some giggles.
She'd been drinking a little, and was feeling it.
More obnoxious knocks and giggles.
She was turned the other way, and didn't notice I'd walked up to the door.
Without looking, she turned to knock again, trying to be a smartass.
'WHAT?'
I asked loudly, making her jump.
Her eyes went big for a second, then she realized I'd gotten her.
She made a little face as I laughed.
She recovered quickly and asked
'Do you have any light bulbs?'
I sighed, pretending to be annoyed.
Actually I was glad any time I saw her.
I had a bunch and showed them to her.
She asked if I would put them in for her. I rolled my eyes
in more mock annoyance, and said I would.
I was curious to see her apartment.
We walked in, she apologized for the place being messy.
I hadn't noticed, I was eyeing the strip of skin not covered by her
short top from behind. She had a nice ass, curvy, not too big,
not too small. I like the way it moved under her thin sweats.
She had a small ladder under one of the sockets.
I stepped up on it, and started to unscrew the bulb.
I felt a touch on my leg, she was standing right next to me,
her sweet face even with the fly of my jeans.
A lot of things went through my head, none of them had anything
to do with lightbulbs. I finished that one, she helped me down,
which I thought was funny. I have a great sense of balance.
In so many ways, life is all about balance.
It turned out almost every bulb she had was burned out,
I wound up replacing about four for her. Every time I climbed
up the ladder, she'd hold me steady, her full mouth about
6 inches from my warming dick. I figured either she was playing,
or had a little too much to drink and didn't notice. I was having
fun, I didn't really care which. I was done in a few minutes.
I looked around her place. Studio apartment, her bed in the big room.
It wasn't made, I thought that was cool. She kept house just a little better than
I did. She scurried around picking up clothes, trying to hide the panties
she'd left out. I pretended I hadn't noticed them.
Pink cotton, with little red hearts. Red trim.
She had a large bench type seat, she moved more clothes and waved
for me to sit. She moved around the corner, back to her kitchen.
I checked her bottom again as she did. A moment later, I heard a
glass with ice in it. She asked if I wanted anything, I didn't.
Not in a glass anyway.
Like a breeze, she returned. A quick glance told me she wasn't wearing a bra.
She scooped up a photo album, and sat next to me.
'I've been wanting to show you some of my work'
She opened the book, and leaned toward me.
When I first walked in, I had noticed how nice her place smelled.
I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but it was nice.
It was her. Her scent. It washed over me.
The room seemed a lot warmer.
I tried to concentrate on the photos.
Her work had a distinct style, she had an eye for the 'off center'.
Ordinary things, shot in an off kilter context.
As she turned pages, I became acutely aware of her every movement.
The subtle things that tell you more about a person than words do.
The way she pushed her hair back, tucking strands behind a small
ear, just little things. The way her fingers caressed a page as she turned it.
This was her work, her passion.
On the last page was a self portrait of sorts.
It spoke volumes about how she saw herself.
She'd shot it in black and white, but it was a study in halftones.
Her hair was longer in the picture than it was now, it fell across
her face, creating shadows, leaving you to guess at the true beauty
beneath. She was wearing a black dress, a wide knit of loose patterns
stitched together. It looked to be made of lace.
She was nude beneath it, yet it revealed nothing obvious.
It was breath taking on it's own, knowing it was her added a deeper
level of appreciation for me.
She closed the book tenderly and moved away.
After a moment, I asked if she had ever displayed her work.
She had, but what she had shown me was her private collection.
The last image stayed burned into my mind.
She explained she'd read my work, and wanted to share some of hers.
I knew I had been allowed to see something special, something personal.
I was touched.
She stood, and placed the album on a shelf.
Her touch lingered on it just a beat longer than it should.
I realized she reminded me of Christine.
Christine had been my first.
Small frame, dark hair, dark eyes that went on forever.
She taught me who I really am, the ways of my true nature.
We'd been seeing each other for awhile, long enough that we were
fucking each other stupid. I loved the taste of her skin, her lips, both
upper and lower. Her scent drove me insane, it made me want to fuck.
It made me want to fuck her. Hard. I did. The more we'd fuck, the more
it drove me. We weren't making love, we were fucking.
I couldn't get enough of her.
Instinctively, I somehow knew she needed more.
Out of bed, she was one of the sweetest women I've ever known.
Smart, gentle, her eyes warm with an inner humor.
She was always on time, always letting me make the decisions
about where we went or what we did. Yet still, I got the feeling she was
waiting. Waiting for something I didn't understand.
One night, she found her opportunity, and took it on herself to show me.
We were out at a club, nothing out of the ordinary.
It was Karaoke night, so there was plenty to talk about.
Not too many things funnier than some boozed up joker
trying to slur their way through a song they don't really know.
Chris was uncharacteristically snippy that night, I figured maybe
it was PMS. I figured wrong, she had a plan.
She was flirting heavily with the bartender, getting free drinks.
She could see I was getting pissed about it, and kept doing it.
It was like she was going out of her way to get under my skin.
The night was turning decidedly sour.
Every time I asked a question, her reply was either bitchy,
or a cold eyed silent stare. The bartender came back, and she turned on
the charm. I finally leaned over and asked sarcastically if they'd like to be alone.
I was fucking steaming.
One of the singing drunks wandered over, and started hitting on her.
I told him she was with me. He glanced over, and then continued where
he left off. He shot a smirk at me over her shoulder.
We locked eyes, I smiled back.
I stood, and stepped between Chris & him.
If he was lucky, he'd wake up in the ambulance.
He threw a couple of pretty good punches, I'll give him that.
I caught his arm, and yanked him away from Chris. I didn't want her to get
hit by accident. The look in his eyes gave me a reason to smile.
He'd thrown his best, and all it did was piss me off.
He knew he was in for a beating. The bartender yelled for the bouncers
as I pulled back my fist. They weren't going to get there quick enough
to stop me. I heard her voice, through the melee. Soft as it was,
it cut through everything else, even the roaring in my ears.
I felt her touch on my fist. It calmed me.
I let him go, the bouncers tossed him out. She still held my fist.
She looked me in the eyes, seeing what she already knew.
With both hands, she raised my fist to her lips, and kissed it tenderly.
Her deep gaze into my rage was soft, knowing.
In a whisper she said 'Take me home.'
With her small hands still holding mine, she walked me out,
to the stunned silence of the rest of the club.
On the ride to her place, she kept her hands folded in her lap,
her eyes downcast. She seemed so small. I noticed she was shaking a little.
I touched her hair, she only stared downward.
I asked if she was OK, she said nothing.
Finally I snapped at her 'Answer me!'
Her nearly inaudible reply was 'You didn't give me permission to speak.'
At the time, I didn't know that she was teaching me, helping me to
answer questions I didn't know how to ask.
I played along, very curious to see where this was going.
Something about it felt so right. The rest came to me naturally.
I said 'You've been a very bad girl tonight, haven't you?'
She was visibly shaking now.
Her reply was a mute nod 'yes'.
My fingers closed, gripping a fistful of her hair.
I gave a small tug. She inhaled sharply through her nose.
Her small hands closed tighter on each other.
Something was happening inside of me, I had to go forward.
I was as if a part of me had been unleashed, something I'd
been denying for too long. And it was hungry, very hungry.
I knew my questions were no longer questions, they were commands.
I was forcing her to answer what we already both knew.
In a voice new to me, I asked, 'You know happens to bad girls, don't you?'
She pressed even tighter to herself, her hair falling across her face.
A tiny sound came from her.
I pulled again, a bit harder this time.
'Answer me!'
'yes'
My dick was so hard, and the moment so intense, I almost blew through a red light.
