The Next Day

Looking back at the "incident" with Eric, I tried to conceal and control my feelings. I tried to cast him in the light of a temporary, partly washed-off tattoo.

But in reality, Eric is more like an indelible tramp-stamp at the top of my ass. And eventually he'll have me on all fours with my butt in the air.

So, whenever I think about Eric, the tell-tail blush returns to my chest. I only hope it won't climb up onto my neck.

And that is my state of mind, as I wake, from my secret space, to the sound of Jeff's spoon tapping at the bowl of broth soup on his plate. The broth soup is my intentional metaphor and counter-weight to the sea of froth I willingly create.

"Jeff, i'm taking a road trip tomorrow to meet with a client."

"Good for you, it should be a nice day for a drive."

"Yes, I think so too. I'm taking the Carrera, it could probably use a few miles. I haven't driven it in a while, and it will be nice to have the top down."

"Sounds good," said Jeff.

And with that step off the edge, I put the decision to bed. And that bed was made for Eric, at least for the time being. Eric is up for the role, I think. If he plays for me, I'll no doubt pay for him, and only God knows how high that price will be.

Putting myself in Eric's role, I've come to the conclusion, he could just as easily join me tomorrow for a drive to the dog pound. And so speaking from Eric's perspective, tomorrow's trip to the wine country will feel like a walk in the park, for both of us.

After Jeff left for work, I went about getting ready for Eric. I selected a denim godet mini skirt, a sequined top and another pair of cute shoes, of which I have many to choose from.

I wouldn't put myself in the category as a slut, unless someone is talking about my wheels and specifically my shoes. I've never put on a pair of shoes that didn't say "fuck me."

That said, since I haven't exactly hooked Eric yet, I hope this get-up won't make me appear too eager to please. So I arrived at Eric's house about an hour late.

When he opened the door, I was shocked. If I hadn't imagined it earlier, I'd say Eric actually expected a trip to the dog pound. He was wearing cargo shorts, which I hate, work boots which were "worked" to say the least, and a nondescript shirt.

I handed Eric the car keys and said: "You drive."

He smiled and we took off, or at least he did. It was a joy ride, kind of like taking a plane ride with a stunt pilot. Eric and the Carrera were like one; on the road the car awoke and responded to his touch on the wheel and the throttle, like a band to a conductor. It purred like a kitten.

I decided then and there, our tryst from the day before, the passionate and frankly rough sex on the living room floor, the sofa, and the dinning room table, was no one-off. Eric had eye hand coordination, animal instincts and as already mentioned stamina. Eric is a baller, as the saying goes.

Honestly, I'll take a guy with a brain over brawn any day. It's just that jocks are attracted to me because of my looks; and given their innate competitiveness, they generally succeed. Jeff is the rare exception.

Feeling Eric drive, I couldn't help but compare it to the excitement and outright fear one gets on a crotch-rocket, but a whole lot better. I felt myself relax to the push of the car, the white noise of the engine, the warm sun, the fresh air, and most of all the escape.

I couldn't help but notice the way Eric managed to juggle both the car and me, as he regularly glanced in my direction, either while we talked, which we did non-stop, or just voyeuristically through the rear view mirror.

Maybe it was the way me and Eric kept up our conversation, or the fact I'd reclined the seat, or the way I crossed and uncrossed legs, the way my skirt hiked up just a bit, or the cleavage, that began to spill out of my blouse, but by the time we arrived, I'd managed to keep myself in an almost constant state of arousal.

So when Eric opened my door and helped me out of the car, I literally wrapped myself around him like a noodle. I wobbled at his side, and let him take me and entertain me for the rest of the day, like a kid at an amusement park. I wanted to go on every ride with Eric.

And from the moment he took my hand, reached around my waist, ran his fingers through my hair, looked intently into my eyes, kissed me gently at every corner, I felt as though I'd found a soul mate, my once in a life time opportunity, the serendipity I'd never believed possible.

Sitting in the tasting room, Eric impressed me. If he has one quality one could call endearing, it's his sense of humor. The servers on the other side of the bar sense it immediately. The entire day's experience, from one stop to the next, was every bit of the word "cordial".

In other words, me and Eric had fun; we laughed, we made friends with our fellow wine tasters; we were every bit a part of, if not the life of, the party, wherever we stopped.

For me, on this day, Eric unleashed a feeling I'd left in high school or maybe college: the confidence and sense that anything is possible and knocking at the door, a magnetic attraction between the two of us, that pulled the positive energy around us, into our orbit.

And so, after I dropped Eric off at his house and returned to the "mansion" to which I had become accustomed, it felt like a dungeon; and that dungeon had taken over every room. The kitchen, appliances looked like instruments of torture. Jeff looked white and lifeless.