Yes! Yes, yes, yes, she wanted to write. But she needed to play that stupid game, the dance of meeting someone new. Her turn to wait. She reread his message. What was a 24? She puzzled over that one as she chewed on her cuticle, pulling on it until it bled. Brilliant! Screw up your manicure when you have a hot date tonight, Laura.
Might have. Might have. Don’t put the cart before the horse.
I am free. Prince William is now taken and so I have an opening in my busy social schedule.
She hit “Send” before she could change her mind. Too cheesy?
LOL. Sounds great. Meet me at Tempo Bistro after work. At 6?
Tempo Bistro? The most expensive, chi-chi restaurant in town? Not tapas, either—something she couldn’t quite remember. Asian fusion? How on earth could a firefighter afford that? Not your problem, Laura. And she was making terrible assumptions. She needed to assume they were going dutch. Good thing she was a careful saver.
’lo?
The chat window pinged. Geez, Laura. Get out of your head. She typed furiously:
Sounds even better. I’ll see you there and you know what I look like.
And he replied,
Oh, yes. :P
What was that supposed to mean? Her eyes swept over the clock—now she had eight minutes to shower. Damn! Laura just shook her head and walked to the bathroom, stripping naked by the time she crossed the threshold and turned on the hot water.
Sliding under the spray was bliss, the beads of water trailing their way down her body, her hair wet and ropy within seconds, the curl relaxed and the strands stretching long enough to tickle the top of her sacrum. Eh—why not leave the ad up? Who knew. Maybe she’d attract a better breed of guy. Or, at least, a different kind. She eyed the shower head—did she have time? Eight minutes?
More than enough for the last guy she dated.
Just enough time for some intimate attention from Mr. Showerhead, though. Josie was wrong. It wasn’t her battery bill that was getting expensive. Her water bill, on the other hand...
Good thing her vibrator was waterproof. As she soaped up she was cognizant of the time, knowing she had minutes to finish. Pulling up the old standby fantasy always worked. Two men, luscious and thickly-muscled, both in the shower with her. Mmmm...
The extra tip of her vibrator slid along the soft, sensitive skin of her clit as she perched one foot on the tub, opening up for access to slide in her fantasy lover, who was soaping her body with his sculpted, large hands, hands that smoothed over her curves, cupping her ass to pull him toward her, sliding his enormous cock in her while the other nameless, faceless lover kissed her, hard, his tongue lashing against her and exploring as the spray rolled down in rivulets between them, gathering at her folds and adding to the tease on her clit.
Her passage tightened as she imagined him bending down, on his knees, his tongue now lapping where the vibrator’s little antennae tweaked her, not her own hands moving the thick shaft in and out but the lovers’, four hands at once on her as one mouth descended on her eager, red nub, the other man thrusting her up against the shower’s wall, her body ready for more.
She tensed, knowing she was so close, craving all these hands, more than enough for two men who wanted and needed her, the familiar muscled cresting of her climax so innate she barely cried out, the release perfunctory but oh, so welcome.
And, now, the guilt. Because how could a “normal” woman really want two men at once? As she absent-mindedly rushed through the rest of the shower, quickly washing off her trusty toy, a persistent voice said, You, Laura. You.
She really did. Some wishes were never meant to be, she sighed inwardly, drying her hair and rushing to get dressed.
Just a fantasy that got her off.
It didn’t help that she felt like there was a huge discrepancy between what she saw in herself, and what she saw in the pictures of Dylan, and what she saw when she did a search for him online. This guy was a catch; not just a catch, but a catch. Like, the difference between catching a good-sized bass in a great lake versus catching a giant, enormous marlin. He was outstanding. There was no other term for it.
He looked like something that was sculpted by an artist and the more that she thought about it and the more that she mulled over it, the more that she was excited about it—the more it turned her into a quivering, uncharacteristically nervous pile of goo.
“I don’t think I can do this, Josie,” she said that night as she prepared for the actual date. Dylan had picked out a rather nice restaurant in a part of town that was above her pay grade, and she wondered how on earth he could afford it on a firefighter’s salary. But she wasn’t going to question it because maybe, just maybe, she had finally found somebody who was going to treat her properly. The way she had always dreamed of being treated, and not treated like a booty call or a person you’d settle for when you really want something more but settle for good enough.