Just as 12 was not easy to write, neither was this, but for different reasons. It took longer than I thought, but it got easier as I progressed. It might be very unexpected, or it might not be for some of you. Hard to say. I can only hope you enjoy it.
Also, for those worried about the incident with Lilly in the garage, the roleplay thing, that’s not over yet. It is more significant than you might think, and it will resurface but not in the same form. I know that’s cryptic, but I don’t want you to think it was a random thing.
Three questions at the end.
Monday afternoon, shortly before 5 pm, Jay was walking Peeek towards the baseball field as Rob backed out of his driveway and headed to Philadelphia, roughly a half hour northwest. Both men could see Annie at the door, her mousy smile, dirty-blonde hair waving both goodbye and hello at the same time. She closed the door and eventually ended up on her computer, waiting for a message from Jay.
A: Ready when you are. What’s up?
J: Just come on over to my house. Knock and I’ll open the door. Wear what you were wearing a few minutes ago when you were at the door. Also, bring a hairbrush. Also, I forgot to tell you to come over on an empty stomach. Hopefully you haven’t eaten dinner yet.
A: hairbrush. No dinner – didn’t eat yet, that’s fine. When should I leave?
J: 5:20. Give him time to be sure he didn’t forget something and might come back home
Annie knocked. Jay opened the door with a great smile and new jeans.
“Hi. C’mon in.”
Confused for a moment, she popped a smile, nodded quickly, and walked in as if walking into a completely dark room without knowing where the light switch is.
“Just want you to know,” she said, “you sent me some really intense pictures.” She tried but hesitated at eye contact. “I mean, I can play along with certain things online and whatever, but I wasn’t sure what you were going for.”
“I can explain that,” Jay said, noticing how short she was and how much he liked it. Makes that schoolgirl fantasy seem more real.
“I mean, I didn’t know if I was going to walk in here and get tackled to the floor and tied up or something.”
“Nah, I’m sorry. Nothing like that is going to happen.” He motioned to his sofa. “Have a seat, and let’s talk.” She followed his direction. “First, we have to figure out dinner. Do you want pasta with or without a meat sauce, chicken, or fish?”
“What, are you running a restaurant or something?”
“No, I just wanted to make us dinner, and I want you to have your choice.”
“Damn, didn’t even think about that,” she fought a smile but lost. “Go with chicken.”
“Great, then I’ll open a Sauvignon blanc.” He headed for the kitchen. “Come on.”
He pulled three different bottles of wine from a low shelf and left them for her to choose.
“I really don’t know much other than white or red.”
“You want to learn?”
“Uh, sure,” she said. Her arms shifted, and she kept half of herself behind the granite countertop as he popped open all three bottles and poured a little of each into six wine glasses. “You must really like wine.”
“Just a bit. Now, while I’m preparing the chicken, I’ll talk you through some basics about wine.”
For the next half hour, Jay prepared thin-sliced chicken breast, egg dipped, coated in a mixture of panko, parmesan, flour, and ground Ritz crackers. In a separate pan, he sautéed planks of yellow squash in butter.
While doing that, he guided her through a wine education, explaining the differences between reds and whites as well as the subtleties within each. He explained the differences between wines stored in oak and steel barrels and guided her to detect the taste of each. He opened her senses to reisling and chardonnay. He taught her about what is or is not champagne. He explained why certain wines go with certain foods, especially certain cheeses. He discussed the proper storage both before and after opening a bottle and why screw tops are actually better than cork, despite the popular misconception of the reverse.
Throughout the culinary education, Jay watched carefully and adjusted as Annie smiled, moved, moved close at times, and at one point even hopped up and sat on the countertop as he was showing when to turn over the chicken without tearing the coating.
He guided her to the stove and placed the spatula in one hand, fork in the other, guiding her through the dinner dance, pointing out how the smell of the frying squash was exactly like a toasting marshmallow and explained the chemical changes within the molecules of each that created that smell. He kept close, sometimes closer, and let her lead the dance until he felt her leaning into him. When he teasingly inched away, he knew she would inch the same way, as if her round ass were able to hold him and pull him towards her, which it apparently did very well.
When it was time for a little lemon in the frying pan, he was sure to put a drop on her neck and then, gently first, but eventually feast on it, and she pushed back against him even more. And he pushed forward even more. She let her head fall back, inviting the vampire to take as he wished from her blood. When he used a little more teeth than before, she flinched at first, then stiffened, then melted back against him.
Six wine glasses had been half filled. All were emptied and then two refilled. She took a mouthful, then pulled him close to kiss him and filled his mouth with her wine. His eyes seemed to disappear, and she did it again. As he began to plate dinner, she added an ice cube into her wine glass and swirled it with her finger. She took the finger and slowly teased his lips with it, then gently pushed her way into his mouth.
Her hips, under their own control, were grinding against him, teasing his hardness that probably could not get any harder. She swirled the cube a little more and then sank to her knees in front of him. She unzipped and lowered his pants just enough to expose him. Again she swirled her finger in the wine and then traced his hardness with her cool, wet finger, gently blowing on it to enhance the cold. Again, she swirled, traced, and blew, this time maintaining eye contact.
She pulled the ice cube from the glass, crushed it with her teeth, and gently blew on him from beneath, the sides, and above, never once letting her mouth touch him, but never once letting him push too close to her mouth, always keeping the same few inches away. She carefully tucked him back in his pants and zipped him up before turning back to the stove as if nothing else had happened.
They shared more wine with dinner, and he jokingly lit candles to make it as corny as possible. A few times she reached a finger and played with the flame closest to her, then dared him to do the same. He did not want to but knew the eventual result would be worth the temporary pain.
He announced that dessert would be various things to dip in melted, dark chocolate. Then he guided her to the sofa again, in front of the television, and sat her where he could stand behind her. She was to find whatever she wanted to watch peripherally on television while they talked about whatever might randomly guide them.
As she channel surfed, they both found ways to reveal their senses of humor and intellect, making fun of certain shows and presenting thought-provoking arguments for or against issues raised by other shows. While this happened, he brushed her hair into different styles, parted her hair different ways, applied a few different braids, and dug his fingers in for a mind-numbing scalp massage.
After her wine glass was again empty, and as the light of day also disappeared, he pulled her head back enough to grind himself against her neck while still tending to her hair. When her eyes remained closed and voice remained quiet long enough, he unzipped his pants and placed his hardness on the back of her neck. He reached forward, unbuttoned her blouse to expose her shoulders, and let his hardness find its way across her shoulders and upper back. Instead of brushing her hair, he was now giving a neck and shoulder massage with more than just his hands.
Several times she let her head fall back, eyes closed, and mouth open, as if it were an invitation for him to enter it, much like the picture he had sent of the woman on her knees in front of him. He teased and was close to fulfilling her suggestion, but he stayed mostly in check and control of himself even with full knowledge that most anything would be welcome and wanted.
He removed his shirt, pants, everything, and sat behind her, his legs around hers, his arms around hers. She was still in control of the television, and, having the same cable system, knew where to find the adult menu from which she selected a title that involved one woman and a group of men. He bunched her hair up with one hand and pulled her head to one side as his lips, teeth, and tongue attacked the other. Attacked enough to leave a mark inside but not outside. His other hand covered hers, and he worked her almost puppet like, guiding her hand to her breasts, guiding her to touch herself as he wished, as he ordered.
She tried to stand to remove her pants, but he held her in place in front of him. He moved his ankles around hers and pulled her legs apart, then guided her hand lower and lower until it was in such a place that she wanted to remove the pants more than ever. He continued working her hand over the material and, as hoped, rode his hips along with hers as she gyrated as much as she could, even straining her crotch against the tightness of her jeans for pleasure.
Knowing that her pants were staying on, she reached behind her to take advantage of his body. He backed slightly so her hand could grip and stroke him. He allowed it until it felt too good, and he was too close to ending. He knew as well as anyone the differences between the pre and post-orgasm brain, the flood and then the depletion of endorphins, the lust and longing, and he was not going to risk that. He assumed, however, it was different for women, some women, as he felt at least three body-shaking moments from Annie who quickly recovered and continued.
From a place she couldn’t see, he pulled a red and white bandana, covered her eyes, and tied it behind her head. On any other day, she might have loved it, but not this day. She turned to him, pushed it off, and almost through tears said, “Next time. I want to see you.” He hesitated and complied.
She pushed him back so that he was lying on the sofa, then she climbed and straddled him even with her jeans still on. “Take them off,” she whispered. “Please. Take them off me. Unbutton them, pull them off. Please.” She nodded, then he did, and then he did as she asked. Then he removed everything else before allowing her on top of him again. And again. And again.
In the movie on the screen, one woman was surrounded, engulfed, and enjoyed by three men. For Annie, it was one, but it could have been two or three as her head spun with wine, wishes, and wants. She used every curve her spine could possibly form as she torque and twisted on top of him.
He flipped her beneath him because he knew the end was near, and he wanted that his way. He needed to drive, to feel in charge. With one hand, he held both of her wrists together above her head. The other hand guided her legs, positioned her like a doll, whichever way he wanted her for however long until he moved her another way and another way. Each change of position happened faster, increasing with everything else in rhythm until he knew it was only a matter of seconds.
He watched her eyes and waited for the moment when she realized that there was no protection on him, nothing to stop him. He waited for her eyes to open a little extra wider, like a silent discussion that said, “Are you sure? I don’t know. Is it okay? I don’t want to stop. Should we stop? I think we should stop. I can’t stop. Can you stop? I can’t stop. Don’t stop.” And that’s what he wanted, and that’s when it was time for everything to come to an end.
He ground deep, as packing gunpowder into the barrel of a gun but never believing it was ready, packing and pushing deeper, adding more powder, pushing deeper again. Until he had no more strength and she had no more room.
It might have been a minute or ten minutes before he realized how her legs were locked around his, still holding herself and him in place, the only place they should ever be for everything to be in the right place. Any other place would never feel as right as this place at this very time. He tried to get up, but she wouldn’t let him, not yet. The longer she made him wait, the more he was unsure of what to do. She was wrapped around him so tightly that as he tried to get up by nearly doing a push-up, he lifted her with him as she used every part of her possible to cling to him. More than just her arms and legs.
“Blanket?” she asked.
“If you let me get up,” he smiled, and she released him.
Suddenly, the adult movie with the woman and men still going seemed wrong. Not today, but maybe another day, and he clicked it off before pulling a blanket from his bed and returning to the sofa where he wrapped them both inside it, him behind her, arms surrounding her again and pulling her close enough for them each to feel the other’s heartbeat.
Jay was in the most comfortable position physically but not emotionally. He couldn’t feel temperature or weight, as if he were floating in a suspension fluid that perfectly matched his heat and heaviness, like weightless perfection. But his mind could not stop racing and bouncing, from the blindfold she rejected, the handcuffs still beneath the sofa, the ropes still beneath his bed, the liquid from the crushed medication still waiting for him to slip into her wine glass, the cameras, the leather straps, and the outfits that he assumed would be her size. All of those things waited for him, called to him, asked, “When is our turn? You can’t forget us. We deserve to play too.”
Not today, Jay thought. Maybe tomorrow.
She turned herself beneath the blanket and faced him. He hadn’t seen eyes like that in too many years, eyes that were that close but actually wanted to be that close. Wanted to feel that good and wanted him to feel that good.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
He closed his eyes and pulled her face to his neck. To her, it likely seems affectionate. To him, it was avoiding her. It was implying an answer, implying that pulling her close was the answer when it was closer to the opposite.
He could feel her eyelashes against his neck, knowing exactly when they were open or closed. They were open, and he felt each blink, but each blink lasted longer and longer until he felt that her eyes were closed and staying closed. The longer hers stayed closed, the longer his stayed open. He felt her arms, shoulders, and legs relax until her breathing was slow enough that he knew she was asleep. He gave her one small kiss on the forehead, then he wished he had never met her.
Question 1: How – if at all – unexpected was this between Jay and Annie?
Question 2: Did I do enough to show that, as with other situations, Jay is manipulating and gaining trust before pouncing on his prey?
Question 3: Did I do enough to show that Annie did her best to reverse the role of control, and they each had their own moments of control?