Delivering the Virgin(6)

And Gary really was fucking her. Really, truly fucking her, that  "waiting until we're married" spiel had been a giant deception because  she was pregnant with his child, her tummy already growing big with a  boy or girl, I have no idea which. And the realization was crushing. All  the lies he'd fed me were just that, lies. There was no "special  occasion," no "special event" where we learned about each other's  bodies, exploring, touching, kissing passionately while bringing each  other to our first orgasms. No, Gary had been pounding this other woman  all along, spurting his seed into her so much to the point where she was  actually pregnant, this ho was going to have the child of a married  man.

So I was devastated, beyond terrified at what I'd discovered. I was a  wreck, cold sweats pouring down my forehead, my knees, neck and back  clammy and chill, my brain half-dead with shock. I thought about  disappearing for a while, treating myself to the whole Elizabeth Gilbert  Eat, Pray, Love world tour, but I don't have that kind of money. I have  a job, bills to pay, responsibilities, and I couldn't just jet off for  months on end while finding myself and rebuilding from the ground up.

So I stayed state-side and filed for divorce, like what a regular person  does. I moved out of our joint apartment as soon as I could, as soon as  the broker presented me with an option that was cheap and affordable.  Sure, the fifth floor tenement wasn't ideal because I didn't want to  live a student lifestyle again, but fuck, I couldn't stay in that huge  apartment anymore, not when I'd heard Gary was planning on moving his  new paramour there, setting up a nursery for his new child.         

     



 

So here I am. I'd just fucked my delivery man because I was starving for  love, my marriage had been a complete sham, my life in tatters. My  supposedly strong launch into wedded bliss had collapsed when brushed  with a feather, and all that was left were broken pieces, my heart, my  body, my soul shaken to the core, my belief in destiny and happily ever  afters destroyed, my confidence in shreds. Even more perverse, I was a  divorcee who was still a virgin. Can you believe it? It sucked, but I  was ready to change that asap  …  hopefully, with a little help from my  gorgeous delivery man.





CHAPTER SEVEN


Tucker




The girl seemed to disappear into her head for a moment, her brown eyes  going contemplative, shutting me out even though her body was still nude  on the bed, spread out in its glory for me to see. It's not that things  were awkward, it's just that the brunette seemed faraway, thinking  thoughts that had nothing to do with our intimate session.

I decided to get things started.

"Hey, I'm Tucker," I said, holding out my hand.

And she jolted a bit, looking at my big hand for a moment, staring before putting her soft palm in mine.

"Laurie," she murmured, coloring a little.

Well, that was awkward. We were two strangers who'd just exchanged a  shit ton of fluids while lying on a big queen size bed, and we were  shaking hands like we'd just been introduced at a party. Um, yeah,  awkward.

But I'm a guy who rolls with the punches, so I kept it going, casual,  light-hearted, with some humor, oh yeah, a sense of humor never hurt.

"So how long have you lived here?" I drawled. I was completely naked but  what the hell? I'd let her get an eyeful, appreciate my masculine form.

Laurie blushed again, this time trying to turn a bit so that the curve  of her arm shielded her breasts, but I lifted an eyebrow as in, "Really?  After all that?"

And the girl blushed even harder, but at least she stopped trying to hide herself.

"Moved in today," she said ruefully, sweeping a hand towards the boxes  outside. "I wanted to take a hot shower but couldn't find any soap or  shampoo so I had to call you guys for a special delivery. Guess it  worked, huh? My soap and shampoo came," she smiled.

I nodded towards the living room.

"Your package is the other room," I drawled. "I dropped it as soon as  the clothes came off, as soon as those jeans dropped off your bod. You  always use jeans to cover yourself?"

And the brunette laughed then for real, throwing her head back, those curls a glorious mass down her back.

"The jeans were the only things I had," she explained ruefully.  "Honestly, everything's super disorganized and shoved randomly into  different containers, I probably have kitchen utensils mixed with books,  it's so messed up."

"Well, you could have used the sheets on the bed to cover yourself," I said, quirking an eyebrow at her. "Like a toga of sorts."

And the girl colored again before smiling at me.

"I didn't even think about that," she admitted, staring at the pale  yellow coverlet. "I guess I just grabbed the first thing at hand, and  that happened to be my dirty jeans," she said, pulling her mouth into a  rueful grin. "Although these sheets are pretty dirty now too, I'll have  to find a spare set somewhere in the pile out there," she sighed.

And I laughed a deep belly laugh then. These sheets were more than a  little dirty, they were positively disgusting with our sex fluid. I'd  come, she'd come, there were droplets of pussy juice and semen  everywhere, not to mention the huge pool of sperm she'd been lapping not  minutes before.

But there were more important things than laundry to think about now, so  I tried to get to know her a bit despite the fact that we'd just fucked  each other silly.

"So, where you from?" I asked casually. This was a pretty common  question, no one was actually from New York and I didn't think it'd set  off any warning bells.

But this girl was different.

"Um, the Upper East Side," she hedged, not looking at me.

Okay, that was fine. Being a rich kid from UES was no problem, you  couldn't help what you were born into. But I could tell Laurie didn't  want to talk about it, so I went in another direction instead.         

     



 

"What do you do for work?" I asked again, curious about the beautiful  girl. Her job obviously couldn't pay much, this place was really small  and old, although it was spic and span. But I wanted to keep things  light and besides, New Yorkers always ask each other about their jobs,  sometimes even sharing salary information with complete strangers.

"I work for the City," she said softly, looking at me. "Have you heard  of HRA? We administer things like SNAP and public assistance."

Oh fuck. Ms. Holmes was a real do-gooder because HRA stands for Human  Resources Administration and SNAP was the City's name for food stamps.  Laurie was definitely into helping the downtrodden.

"So how's the job?" I asked. "You're probably an angel at work," I  added, "So many people must appreciate you." Because although I never  talked about it, once upon a time my family had used food stamps,  there'd been a few times when we didn't have enough to eat and the extra  had filled a much-needed void.

And she smiled at me then.

"I do translation work," she explained. "There are so many people who  don't speak English but need help accessing public benefits, so I help  translate signs and brochures into different languages so that we can  reach all New Yorkers."

I cocked my head at her.

"And which language do you translate into?" I asked.

She bit her lip.

"Spanish  …  and Mandarin Chinese," she said.

I whistled through my teeth. Holy shit, this was one smart girl. If  she'd said Spanish, I would have been duly impressed with that alone,  being a one language guy myself. Shit, I barely even speak English  sometimes, so Laurie was already one up on me.

But Spanish and Chinese? That was fucking impressive. The two languages  are nothing alike and it only confirmed my assessment that there was a  lot more to this girl than met the eye. Despite living in this humble  apartment, she had to have a rich background because you can't learn  Chinese without going to some fancy immersion classes, without taking a  trip to some Asian country. So I just whistled again.

"How'd you pick those languages up?" I asked. I expected the brunette to  babble on and on about exotic trips abroad, how she had friends who  lived in far-flung locales and went on fancy jaunts. But instead, she  shook her head.

"Rosetta Stone," she replied, referring to the tapes that any John, Dick  or Harry could buy for a hundred bucks a pop. "I listened to the  recordings over and over again until I was fluent."

Now I was definitely impressed, revising my initial impression of the  brunette. She'd been able to learn not one, but two languages from  listening to tapes? Holy shit, that put most college students to shame.  And as if reading my mind, Laurie nodded.

"Yeah, we didn't have enough money for me to go to college, not even  community college, so I went the next best route. I bought some tapes  with my savings and just kept listening to them until I was fluent. I  practiced here and there with my neighbors, the people who owned a  bodega on the corner, and soon I was good enough so that when I applied  for a job with HRA, I passed the translation test with flying colors."