Matchmaking For The Shy Ch 01

Author note: This is a chain story written by several members of the Author's Hangout on the Literotica forum. Chapters will be published irregularly but hopefully around one per month.

The subject line of the email was just 'Congratulations'. Seeing it there in her email inbox gave Heather a thrill every time. It was from her lawyer: the body of the email and the attachments were a whole pile of legalese, but the short version was that she was finally divorced. Eric was gone from her life. She never needed to see him, hear his stupid west coast voice, or think about him banging his coworker six times on a midweek business trip to Boston: yes, she'd found the texts and read all the details. It was lucky, really, because those texts were what finally got the divorce through. But perhaps more than anything, the email meant that

she

had done it. Timid little Heather who Eric thought would never have the guts to get rid of him.

The email had arrived just before the end of work the previous day, and to celebrate, she'd taken today as a vacation day. Well, being freelance, it wasn't as if she'd had to ask her boss, but still. She pledged that she wouldn't look at her current brief at all that day. The pledge had lasted until about eight-thirty in the morning, when she'd opened her email inbox to bask in the glow of 'Congratulations' again and got sidetracked by a reply to a work email, which had led her to review some of the client material and... well, at nine she put her phone down and switched it off. Digital detox. From

now

, she wouldn't do any work.

But her apartment in New York was still new to her and she didn't have all of her books out of storage yet. She barely knew the neighborhood, except for the local coffee place (a good local coffee place was essential to her existence and the woman who owned it was the one person here she'd confided in about her divorce), and as it was a weekday, the handful of people she still, just barely, knew in the city would be working. If she went for coffee too early, she'd end up having too many cups and feel jittery all day. Ten, she told herself. She'd go out for coffee at ten. But that left an hour. The first ten minutes were killed by brushing her teeth and hair and then checking her look in the bedroom mirror. Her natural hair colour was a very dark brunette, almost black, which Eric had always liked. So she'd dyed it blonde at the first opportunity, but hadn't had the roots touched up for a while. Maybe she ought to spend the day finding a hairdresser. Planning to spend the day comfy at home, she was wearing grey sweatpants and a thick crimson sweater, which also handily hid her curves, which were beginning to reflect her age (only just forty) in a way she wanted to feel confident about, but never did. Sure, she'd expected her tits to sag a little, but her butt too? Why didn't someone warn her? She prodded the crease under her pants where her ass met her thighs. Maybe she needed to find a gym instead.

Abandoning this exercise in self-loathing, she'd decided to read her book. It was on her nightstand, where she'd left it before bed last night. Settling on the bed, pillow propped behind her, she picked it up and focused.

Chapter Nineteen

Sonya flushed red. Here she was, about to pitch her million-dollar business idea to the only man that mattered, the only man that had ever mattered. They were even in an elevator: where better to deliver her perfect elevator pitch? But just as she was about to begin, Johnny's hand had slid purposefully from her waist onto her rear.

"I'm listening," he said, as if he didn't know where his hand was, his fingers curling around the hem of her skirt, teasing the sensitive skin at the back of her thighs. A few inches up and he'd reach her stocking tops, and from there...

Heather turned the page so she could glance ahead at just how spicy this chapter was going to get.

His hand struck her bare ass; a white heat, mingled pain and pleasure, shooting through her. Her thin panties, caught around her knees, betrayed...

Okay, very spicy. Not nine-fifteen a.m. reading. She closed the book and returned it to her nightstand, feeling faintly jealous of Sonya. Sexy men didn't grab her ass in elevators. In fact, the only male hand that had ever touched her butt was Eric's. That was a depressing thought. When it came to sex, she'd done no shortage of reading about it, but real life experience was limited mostly to missionary, lights-off, fifteen minutes. That was why Eric's betrayal had hurt so much; she would have done some of those things his coworker did for him, if he'd just asked her. Respectfully. But that seemed to be the thing with Eric. He wanted the demure wife and dirty side piece arrangement.

Stop thinking about Eric, she told herself. Never think about him ever again. But that was easier said than done for the man she'd been married to for fifteen years. Think about... a gorgeous man, a little younger, perhaps, interested in books, a great dancer, absolutely obsessed with her. Cornering her in the elevator, unable to hold in his desire a moment longer. His hands on her, all over her, ready to take her to his private office and do the things she'd always wanted a man to do.

Inside the nightstand was Heather's vibrator, and in thirty seconds she'd taken off her sweatpants and got out the toy. This was a good way to spend a weekday morning, she thought, laying down on her back and slipping her hand between her thighs, toy buzzing on the lowest setting. First he'd bend her over and kiss down her back, between her shoulder blades, stopping to worship each vertebra, until he got down lower and the kisses became licks...

Coffee Pages

Pretty addition to the Upper West Side. Don't expect high-quality, expensive roasts; what this café lacks in sophistication it makes up for in local charm. Hard to think of anything happening within a square mile that proprietor Brianna doesn't know about. While away a spare morning with a book from the surprisingly high-brow selection that are free to borrow. If you're not a reader, the fresh-baked cake slices are both gigantic and delicious.

- Extract from

The Native New Yorker's Guide to the City

When Brianna Gold got an idea into her head, it was rarely frustrated. That was how she'd come to spend the last year of her life transforming a former smoke shop into Coffee Pages, the café and library and community hub she'd dreamed of running since she was a little girl. That's what she told people, anyway. In truth, little-girl Brianna had wanted to drive a garbage truck, but that sounded less romantic. And to Brianna, romance was what mattered.

"You wouldn't believe it was May, would you?" Emma said as she came through the door of Coffee Pages, wrapped up in a winter coat, hat and scarf.

"It's only eight weeks until the Fourth of July," Brianna commiserated, already setting the coffee machine off for Emma's usual black Americano, extra sugar, in fact, just add everything sweet you can lay your hands on, cake yes please.

"Really?" Emma asked, sounding devastated as she hung all her outdoor gear on the coat rack near the door.. "Anyway, don't remind me about summer vacation. I don't want to spend a moment thinking about my kids until school's out."

"Should have stopped at one, like us," Brianna said with a shrug.

"Should have stopped at

none

, you mean," Emma replied, darkly, coming up to the counter, and the two women giggled knowingly.

"The orange cake is fresh this morning." Brianna pointed to it in the glass case.

"Why not?" Emma said, grinning, slightly manic, and she pulled out her bank card as Brianna slid the cake onto a plate and put it down next to the coffee.

"Did that thing with Caleb and the school get resolved?" Brianna asked, stamping Emma's loyalty card twice; once for buying a coffee and once out of generosity.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Don't get me started. If they call me one more time and tell me Caleb's lost his shoes, or his sack lunch, or his library book, I'm going to scream. Loudly, and preferably in the principal's face."

Brianna laughed, but then adopted a more sombre expression as Emma held out the bank card. "It's on the house," she said, holding her hands up in refusal.

"No, Brianna, I don't mind-"

"I know today is three years since the accident and you need every ounce of love you can get," Brianna replied, dropping her voice. "It's the least I can do."

Tears welled in Emma's eyes for a second before she blinked them away, shoving her card back into her purse. "Thank you," she said, hoarsely. "I appreciate you."

When Coffee Pages had opened, Brianna had loved sitting with customers and gossiping all day, but now she seemed to be busier than ever and hardly had time to exchange more than a few sentences at the register. Hiring an assistant just to free herself up to socialise seemed unreasonable, though, so she made herself go through to the storeroom and get another sack of coffee beans instead of sitting down with Emma. In any case, she needed to blink away a few tears of her own. Emma was one of those unexpected widows who just got on with life and raising four kids and never mentioned the gaping hole in her life that losing her husband had left. Brianna was filled with admiration and sadness, and delicately pressed a tissue onto her eyes to avoid disturbing her mascara.

"Sorry, Heather, I was in the back," she said when she returned to the counter to find one of her newish regulars standing waiting.

"Oh, don't worry about it." Heather paused, awkwardly, looking shyly up at the blackboards with the menu written on. "I was looking at the drinks menu and wondering about something cold, but it's practically January outside." She said it all in a rush, almost like she'd rehearsed saying it.

"It's only eight weeks until the Fourth of July," Brianna said, and Heather shook her head in disgust.

As Brianna made up a milky latte, Heather asked for the orange cake and a chocolate chip cookie, too, and Brianna gave her a smile before plating them up.

"Cake

and

a cookie. Is it a celebration, or do you just hate winter that much?"

Heather sighed. "My divorce was finalised yesterday, so it's a celebration, if you can celebrate things like that."

"Of course you can. A cheater getting what he deserves is always a cause for celebration."

"A cheating rat, you mean."

"Absolutely."

Heather and Brianna shared a smile.

"Oh, and I've got this to return," Heather added, sliding a bright yellow book out of her bag.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"I did, surprisingly. I'm not normally interested in video games and things like that, but it was really compelling. Have you read it?"

"Oh, no, honey, I barely have time to read my emails, let alone a book." Brianna took the book and examined it. There wasn't much information on it, just the title,

Triangle Square

and some praise quotes. "What's it about?"

"It's about women who make video games, you know, all the way from back in the seventies and eighties to today. A lot of them are practically ignored, you know, not credited and barely paid." Heather sounded genuinely indignant about it. Brianna knew that talking about books drew her out of her shell and wished she had time to talk more. Maybe she did need that assistant after all.

"Well, sounds like we need to raise some awareness," Brianna said, taking the book across to the 'Brianna's Recommendations' shelf and giving it pride of place. "I'm always looking for books that highlight injustices."

While there weren't any customers queueing, Brianna wiped the counter, restocked the fridge and rearranged the bookshelf so

Triangle Square

was even more prominent. With an unexpected moment to herself, she touched the stack of stapled paper under the counter with a look over at Heather, who was reading a new book and munching the cookie, but then four college students from Columbia came in noisily, stacks of psychology books in their hands, and she went back to running the café.

"Heather, just before you go," she said, catching her on her way out. Heather blushed slightly and seemed nervous, as if Brianna was going to announce she'd caught her shoplifting. Instead, Brianna slid the stapled paper out and onto the counter. "Now your divorce is finalized... If it's too soon, it's okay, but I'm trying to get people to join my neighborhood matchmaking program. You just need to answer this quiz and I'll do the rest. I think it would be good for you."

Heather grabbed a strand of her hair, a little frazzled with split ends, that had fallen on her shoulder and tugged on it, an obvious nervous movement. "Um, like, dating?"

"It doesn't have to be dating, it can just be, you know, making friends, but I guess my aim is to help people date," Brianna said, trying not to lose her nerve. "Like I say, no worries if it's too soon."

Looking at her, then at the paper, then back at her, Heather seemed indecisive.

"I'll let you have a free coffee if you join?" Brianna offered.

"Okay," Heather said, grabbing the paper. "I'll have a look at it later."

Brianna beamed at her.

"What's so interesting on the screen that you don't want to see your hunk of a husband naked?" Charles asked in a drawling voice, clearly not serious, posing like a bodybuilder at the foot of the bed.

"Oh, put it away, Charles," Brianna said, dismissively, but she did look up from the tablet. Sitting in bed, looking over at him, he did look good, especially for a guy approaching fifty, with muscles still visible beneath his skin and dark hair only lightly peppered by greys, unlike her own hair which was only still brunette by the grace of the bottle of dye. However, she'd tabulated the survey answers from the first people in her matchmaking program and she was more excited by those than by his floppy dick.

He laughed, good-humoredly, and sat on the corner of the bed to put on pajamas. "Looks like you've managed to marry off the entire population of New York, then," he said as Brianna went through the results yet again.

"Stop making fun of it. It's a good idea. I think." She frowned at it.

"You think?"

"Well... it's a little light on male participants."

Dressed in his pajamas now, Charles walked around the bed and climbed in on his side, shuffling in an undignified manner across to her so he could look at the screen of the tablet. The bright white light coming from it was jarring against the dim bedroom lighting and he squinted, then rummaged around in his bedside cabinet for reading glasses and put them on. "A little light? There's zero, Bri."

"Well, obviously I know that."

"Unless these women are seeking other women, I think you might need to work on finding some men."

Brianna flung down the tablet in frustration. "Most of the café patrons are women and whenever I approach a man, they're not interested in blind dating, or they take the form out of politeness and then never return it. You'd have thought the cultured elites of Manhattan would have gotten tired of the meat market of dating apps by now."

"If anyone can make it work, Bri, it's you. Believe in yourself. You made Coffee Pages work, you can make this work. Just find a different approach." He gave her the same encouraging smile that had been pushing her to succeed for years now, and she knew it was sincere.

She looked at him for a second. "How come you're always right?" she asked.

He grinned. "It's a gift. Now put that screen away and let me rock your world."

Moving his body weight over to her, she screamed in mock alarm at his approach and giggled, putting her tablet out of harm's way. "Not tonight, I'm tired," she said, putting her hand on his chest.

"Come on, Bri, you'll love it." He grinned, flexing a bicep and making her laugh.

She looked at him, then leant in to kiss him briefly. "A quickie. And I mean quick," she conceded, sliding her hand over his tummy and down into his pajamas. As she wrapped her hand around his hard, familiar cock, he reached down and gave her ass an affectionate slap.

"Don't push it," she said, adopting a warning tone but smiling and leaning to kiss him, squeezing his cock gently.

His hands found her waist and they kissed more, thighs pressing together, until he rolled onto his back to give her more room to work. She lay with her head on his chest, getting comfortable as he pushed down his pajamas, her hand rubbing up and down his length rhythmically, in time with his breathing.

"Is our twentieth wedding anniversary this year or next?" he asked, his voice low and rumbling. This was exactly the kind of disconnected statement they were both guilty of making when their minds wandered and she laughed out of recognition. She wanted to chastise him for not knowing how long they'd been married, but then she realised she couldn't immediately remember either.

"Um," she said, working it out in her head. "It's next year."

"Thanks."

They both went silent again; the only sound his heartbeat in her ear and the rustle of the bed linen as she moved her hand up and down.

"Why?"

He let out a chuckle. "I wasn't sure whether it was three or four years ago that we went on vacation to Maine."

Now she understood that the thought hadn't been disconnected at all, and she lifted her head to look at him, a knowing smile appearing. "Why are you thinking about that?" she asked, already sure of the answer.

He grinned in his usual way, shifting his hips into a more comfortable position and then kissing the top of her head. "No reason."

"Oh, really?" She stroked a little faster, getting into the game. "Three whole years ago... my memory has faded a bit. What did we do on that vacation?"

"Just the usual, romantic things. You know, walks by the sea, candlelit dinners, all that kind of thing."

She kissed his collarbone softly. "Nothing else?" She asked, getting more playful.

"Well, we stopped off in New Hampshire on the way up, I think."

"Don't play dumb..."

His hand slid down her back. "You're the one who claims to have forgotten..."

She let go of his cock and rolled away from him, opening up the drawer beside the bed and pulling out the slim blue vibrator she kept in there. Switching it on, she was relieved to discover that the batteries were good, and she rolled back, slipping her hand and the toy inside her pajama shorts. These days, she found it easier to get wet with the assistance of the toy.

"Mm," she said, gently, when she found the right spot on her clit. "If you can remember what happened, it might speed things along."

He replaced his hand on her back. "Well, I seem to remember you got dressed up specially to celebrate our anniversary."

"That's right, I did... A black dress, wasn't it?"

"I remember better what was under the dress."

She suppressed a giggle. "Oh?" She'd meant it to come out teasing, but the vibrator was starting to feel really good and there had been an unexpected tone of desire instead.

Charles smiled and took hold of his cock, stroking firmly while she focused on her vibrator. "Lots of sexy pink lace," he said, his voice low.

"And I seem to remember you didn't want me to take my heels off, either," she said, kissing his chest again.

"Absolutely not. They made your ass look incredible."

She blushed, grinding harder into the toy.

"And after you'd showed off your beautiful self, I remember a very slow, very sensual, and very dirty blowjob."

She shivered at the words as he said them. Oral sex was not a regular part of their lovemaking in either direction, so the occasions when it did happen had a special appeal. Picturing the situation in their cosy hotel room in Maine, she remembered the bottle of French wine she'd been drinking for courage and the way its taste mixed with his precum as she'd sucked him. He'd made all the right noises, writhing and groaning in the chair, his hands in her hair and on her shoulders right up until he'd...