I watched a lot of TV, I did a lot of laundry, caught up with email and talked to some friends.
I was having a great day! Just what I needed. A little R&R and some "me time" to round out the weekend. I guess I'm becoming a little domesticated but doing laundry and other menial jobs really sets my mind at ease lately. I am *not* looking forward to next week. Project launches and meetings abound.
I finished dinner and poured another glass of wine. I settled down on the couch and folded my last piece of laundry. Perhaps folding is an over statement, it's a black thong. As I touched it and felt the smooth fabric against my skin I felt a little tingle and remembered the fond times I'd had teasing boys with it. It's funny how just a little thong showing above your jeans can drive boys a little crazy. It's as if they think that thong = nympho. Maybe so in my case. Maybe so.
MR G: Good evening.
I had been hoping he'd message me! Our chats had turned into all out fantasy stories. He is a bit of a word smith. I can't ever recall wanting to touch myself so much since this all started. This morning I had a bath and came 3 times in the tub. I was a complete prune when I finally poured myself out of it.
I'm giddy, maybe he'll regale me with another tale now if I ask nicely.
BECCA: Hello. ;) How are you?
MR G: I'm just fine thank you. Out for a drive. Currently sitting in a parking lot enjoying the view of the lake and the city skyline.
BECCA: Awwwww you're such a romantic.
MR G: I've been called worse. But that's not why I've messaged you.
BECCA: Oh really? Is it story time?
MR G: Once upon a time, a man visited your city and came to your house.
BECCA: Where are you???
MR G: Bellfield.
Shit. That's my town. He only lives about 30 minutes from here but obviously he's gone out of his way to be close by. We've been talking for a couple of weeks. He's made me wet with his words, he's made me cum without actually touching me. He's called me pet, kiddo and princess, each time sending my imagination spinning into an abyss of pleasure and wonder.
He's seen me. A lot of me. I've sent photos. We've talked about getting together but never set any specific plans in place.
I am drawn to his conviction, the way he writes, he knows what he wants. The way he can command me with a simple message to do things and I'll feel obligated, nay *compelled* to comply. On this particular Sunday however, I was feeling... playful. Hell he was in *my* town, take back the power Becca!
BECCA: What do you want?
Booya.
MR G: I want you to tell me your address.
Hmph.
Well. I guess this is a predicament I should have anticipated. Not sure what I was thinking there.
BECCA: I look like crap. I have no makeup on, I've been in my sweats all day.
MR G: Address.
I am smitten with this character. He's completely dismissive at times. I've said it before, it tickles me.
BECCA: Number 27 concession road 3, are you coming?
Not sure what I expected. I didn't hear anything. Not in the next 2 minutes, or 5 minutes. 10 minutes raced by and my heart began palpatating. I couldn't let him see me like this. I'm not pretty enough right now. Yet I am inclined to let myself be and welcome him into my humble abode.
Scenario after scenario ran through my head. He likes me, he doesn't like me, he's not the guy I thought he was, he fucks me like a little play thing on my couch, I suck his cock and please him. I wonder if he has a nice cock?
*Doorbell*
Fuck. Me.
Becca. Shit. What the hell.
My legs nearly quivered as I navigated my way up 4 stairs, around the landing, and up the next 4 from the basement to answer it.
I hadn't been upstairs in at least an hour or two, I was a little surprised at how quickly it had become dark outside. I approached the door, gingerly adjusted the curtain on the glass side panel and sneaked a glimpse through the glass at my mystery charmer.
Shit.
That is definitely him.
He stood a good 6' tall. He was wearing jeans, nice ones that fit him well. I'm no fashionista but I can guarantee those did not come from some random outlet. His frame was silhouetted against the light from the street and I drank in the sight. A boxy man. He appeared strong, slender but not skinny. He wore a t-shirt, the semi-fitted kind. It hung on him quite correctly. He wasn't overweight but also didn't appear to care. It was hard to tell but I don't think I'll be finding a six pack under there.
Somehow his appearance matched his personality exactly. Confidence flowed from his stance like light from a bulb, there was no denying his purpose.
I watched his lips moved and could make out him saying "Hello?" from the other side of the door. My gaze darted to his eyes. He was grinning, looking directly at me.
Shit. I've been staring.
I slammed the curtain over the panel again and my body tremored.
I stood, my back to the door and leaning hard against it.
I whispered out loud as I tried to breathe, "One, two, three", twirled around and flung open the door.