Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: One Chapter A Day
THE BACHELOR CHAPTERS: A THINKING WOMAN’S ROMANCE
After our midnight reunion, Wouter and I began dating. We were a duet wired for adult city-fun, and I didn’t just have sex with this man—we did stuff. There had been hikes in the Cascade Mountains, a black tie fundraiser, the high school graduation party of a best friend’s son, and the happy hour concerts in the park. My friends and colleagues adored him, and so did I. It was springtime, and a fever had infected me with a long dormant virus; there was something like love in my blood. Wouter made me feel naughty and cherished, plus we made each other laugh all the time. I had no trust for love, but there was no one way I was going to miss the joy he brought to my life.
On the Fourth of July weekend, Wouter and I made the trip down south for the Portland Blues Festival. I went every year by myself, and I was thrilled when he answered yes to the three days of live music on the downtown seawall of Portland’s Willamette River.
“Happy Birthday, baby,” I said, handing him the small box that I’d kept hidden in my suitcase since we arrived.
“Sweetie, really?” He looked like a big kid, smiling from ear to ear. “My girl got me something? I’m a lucky man!” He cracked the lid, and the Michael Kors watch with the mother-of-pearl face, shimmered in the sunlight of our Portland hotel room.
“Vicki Marie, look at this,” he cooed, taking it out and holding it in his right hand. “It’s a, it’s a . . . ” he stumbled with his words, “. . . Baby—? Is it a lady’s watch?”
Damn it! It was too small! I thought it might be, but I had picked it anyway, captivated by the subtle, iridescent face, and the lug nuts on the radius of the dial. He was flying out early the next morning to see his mom for his birthday, and I wanted him to have something special, from me, on his visit to Cleveland. It was unlike me, but I wanted him to think about me, and talk about me, while he was away from me.
“I’ve got the receipt, baby. We can find you a better style at Nordstrom when you get back.”
“It’s great, sugar, but I do think it’s too small.” He leaned over and kissed me. “Thank you so much, Vicki Marie, you are so-o-o sugar-pussy-sweet.”
“And you are the sexiest man on the I-5 corridor!” I spoke the truth, leaning into his radiant face. “Now let’s go! We’ve got a date with a blues legend! It’s Koko Taylor time!”
It was our last night, the Fourth of July, and there would be fireworks before Koko’s set. We had left our blanket and cooler on the lawn—the informal reservation policy that had been working all weekend—and it was best to re-occupy our territory before the sun went down. Our time so far had been nothing short of adult Disneyland: with romance, live music, dancing, great restaurants and outstanding sex. I was all about living in the present, but that didn’t stop me from relishing his return to Seattle, and eight more weeks of summer fun with the man from Ohio.
Our blanket was as we had left it, and our lawn neighbors welcomed us back. The river-edge became a temporary neighborhood over the life of the event, and I loved that Wouter was as social with strangers as I was. My reasons to adore him just kept adding up. He treated me like his girlfriend when we were together, and paid me no mind when we weren’t. I was in bachelor heaven, feeling the love without the contract.
After the sun went down, we listened to another great band in the lead-up to the fireworks and Koko’s headline show. Wouter had been holding a pose as human lawn furniture through most of the set, sitting in the ground-level lawn chair, and I was propped up in his lap, between his legs, with my head on his chest, a light blanket deflecting the chill. I was digging the delta-blue guitar sound with my eyes closed, and my head keeping time with the bass. His hands had been resting on my belly, but when the solo broke, he moved his hand under my blanket and inside the waistband of my jean skirt. He wasted no time and pushed aside the panties, and found my clit with his middle finger. My body froze, in spite of the fire he’d set off with the spark of a single digit. He kept up a steady pace with his stroke, and I felt my pussy weep into my panties, and my mind light up with fear. He was one bold bastard, making me want his fucking finger, while our new neighbors were on all sides. He was messing with my good manners; he was making me want more.
“Don’t stop,” I urged silently, unable to speak, “don’t stop for a second!” I was afraid of being caught; I was afraid he might stop. I couldn’t move and I couldn’t moan, and I couldn’t let anyone know the truth. I shouted mutely; I had to make myself heard, but my pleas were held hostage, and my silence made me his accomplice.
“You started this—don’t leave me, I need you; don’t let anyone see—you can’t let anyone see—just don’t stop; don’t stop till I’m done!” When I came, it rolled through me like a wave, breaking fast, everywhere, all at once; my body not moving, my lungs barely breathing, just coming and coming with the force of a flood. In the surge, I became the flood, until like a wave, I was swept back to sea; washed away from his touch; left still and changed under the night sky and the tender shield of his vigilant eye.
“Wake up, baby, and give me a kiss. I’m leaving now.” It was morning, and I didn’t want to hear the sound of his voice. The clock on the nightstand read 5:00 a.m.
My head was thick, and my body was sore. We had only ended our night a few hours earlier, after some kind of mind altering sex marathon.
“Hush, baby. You’re too loud,” I said softly, closing my eyes again.
“I want you to sleep that off, angel, and fall back to dreamland. I’ll be outta your hair. I got a date with mama.” He sat next to me on the bed. I felt the warmth of his hand on my hip.
“Give her my love, Mister Wilson, and happy birthday. You’re a great date.” I almost said, “I love you.” It would have been true.
“And you’re the best date ever, sugar pussy. Now, back to sleep. I’ll talk to you soon.”
TOMORROW: Chapter 67
Copyright Vicki Marie Stolsen, 2014, Forever Forty-Four Publications, Publicity Rare Bird Lit, Tyson Cornell, Tyson@rarebirdlit.com, Distribution by Ingram, Available online and in bookstores in paperback, eBook, and audio format.