Change Of Plans 1

It was my fault. I said I would go, would meet him, and then I did not.

I met him online, I know it sounds so trite, but I did. I thought him fascinating and the things he wrote excited me in ways I had never experienced. I never thought I'd find myself in one of those cyber relationships, but it happened, and I wasn't really sorry. As he pointed out, it was ultimately safe. We could do things I would never ever contemplate in the real world, but in the flickering light of the screen it was magic. He had his flaws, so did I but he was so kind and so supportive, that I thought we had a real friendship if a fragile one. We talked about other things, not just sex, and his distance meant he could be logical and helpful, and I really did value his opinions.

Inevitably, I suppose, we planned to meet. The idea terrified and excited me. I was to fly down. I'd pay my fare, he'd pay my housing while I was there. It came out about the same. I arranged vacation time. So did he. The closer the day came for me to book my tickets, the more scared I got. We'd chat online every night, and make plans, and I got more and more terrified.

Fact is, I'm a prude. Next fact is, I am totally a coward about physical intimacy. I wasn't a particularly popular girl, never was. I had friends and I did okay, but I was not the one guys dreamed of, or asked out or anything. Erick was a big surprise that way, but after all, he only saw what I wrote, he never saw me. We had never exchanged photos.

He's asked what I looked like, once, and I had answered, pretty honestly really. He'd just typed a laugh and said he was taller.

I wanted to meet him, I wanted to do all the things we'd imagined, but the idea scared me witless. Every day that brought it closer made my feet colder and colder. When I woke in the mornings, I expected to find chicken feathers on my pillow, the ones I was sure I was growing. I didn't know how to tell him I was having second thoughts, much less how to say I was having third, fourth and fifth ones too.

Then the situation was taken from my hands. My mother got sick, really sick. I got caught up in her doctor's appointments and the hospital and rehab. I did not make the reservations. I phoned him, to tell him. We did not call each other often, preferring the written word when we played together. I explained briefly. I did not need to say much, he knew as much about her health as I did.

"I understand," he said. He sounded, clipped, abrupt. I started to apologize but he cut me off. "We will not discuss it."

I was silent, startled by how cold he sounded. But then he began questioning me about Mother's doctor and what had to be done next. I answered him, and we stayed on the line quite a while discussing the possibilities for her. He sounded entirely himself when we hung up, and his momentary coldness faded from my mind.

I sat still for a long time, staring at the phone. I was sorry I could not go, really I was, but I could not deny my overwhelming feeling of relief.

I spent the next day running errands, doing things that Mother would need. It was convenient, my being on vacation. I felt a little self-pity, I could have been off being pampered and adored after all, but then my common sense kicked in; pampered and adored until he got a good look at me and ran screaming. At least I made me laugh.

He wasn't there when I logged in, and I felt let down. I decided to pour myself a small drink and read until I fell asleep. That way I could get up early and do housework and be virtuous. Not much of a trade for a wild vacation, but oh well.

I did wake with the sun. I got up, made coffee, ran the laundry. I was so full of virtue, I even took the clothes outside to the line instead of throwing them in the dryer. I carried the basket back inside, and stood there trying to figure out where to leave it that would be both convenient and out of the way. That was a waste of my time, there was no good place. I dropped the basket on the landing in disgust, then I went back down the stairs to close the door.

I reached out to push the door shut.

A hand shot from behind the door and closed on my wrist. The door itself slammed shut, and I faced a large and clearly irate man. He hauled me close, trapped me against him with one massive arm. He locked the cellar door, latching it one handed, then half-dragged, half-carried me up the stairs.

"Foolish, foolish woman. You CLOSE the door in the city. You LOCK the door when you go inside." He shook me as he snarled into my face, then flung me to the floor. He glared down at me. "You look like hell. Stupid woman." He was big, I know I said that. He was built like a linebacker, wide shouldered, massive, strong, I knew the last from how easily he'd gotten me up the stairs. I am not light. His eyes were shockingly blue, and right now, steely with anger. His dirty blond hair was short, only a little longer than military length. He had moved easily and gracefully, dragging me up here, and I did not think I could simply hit him and knock him down. I also did not think I could just get up and run past him.

I lay on the floor, startled and stunned. I stared as he opened his pants, as he freed himself, already partly erect and hardening as I stared. I started to rise, realizing that I had to do something to save myself. I could not seem to form a coherent thought. I wasn't afraid, not afraid the way I should be. I knew, simply knew I was not in danger of my life. How I knew, I couldn't say, but I did know it.

He reached out, took my head in his hand and pulled me to him. His fingers held my skull easily, the fingers curling around almost to my temples. I could no more break away than I could sprout wings and fly. He lifted, pulling me to my knees before him. He didn't drag me far, just until my mouth was against his now fully rampant shaft.

"You have a choice, open your mouth willingly, or I make you." He smiled down at me. "I will enjoy either answer."

I opened my mouth to tell him no, but he slid the head into my mouth, then pushed deeper. He filled my mouth, forcing himself deeper. He made a pleased sound as he filled my mouth and his hand tightened on my head.

I choked. He filled my mouth, pushed into my throat. He felt huge, I could not imagine accepting all of him in my mouth.

He chuckled, easing back only a little. "That's right darlin'. Just like you promised."

My brain reeled. Only Erick had ever called me darlin'. But now I knew his voice. I had never seen a picture, but we had spoken once or twice.

He pushed deeper, laughing. "Now she gets it." He almost groaned the last word. He pulled free of my mouth and lifted me. "Which way to the bedroom, darlin'?"