It's true I can write mommy porn, (I just usually choose not to). I even did a little bit earlier in the year when I had a school project to write a story that was Chick Lit/Modern Gothic/Fairy Tale. Read at your own peril ;)
He
walked into the coffee shop, my coffee shop, where I ventured after my
classes, 5 days a week to purge my daily insanities. It isn’t that he was
breathtaking or gorgeous, at least not in any conventional manner, but there
was just something about him, something that caught my eye and my eyes were not
letting go. While sitting on the ever so comfortable rouge loveseat in the
middle of the shop, I scooted over to the left side from the middle so that
maybe someone could sit next to me. In my fantasies that maybe man would
sit right next to me and start up a conversation upon which he’d ask me out on
a date, which would lead to a relationship or living arrangement or dare I
dreamed, MARRIAGE. “Dum dum di dum, dum dum di dum dum…” the voice in my head
hummed. But surely I was getting ahead of myself. Or was I? Who wouldn’t want
to marry this tall, lean, toned man with spectacular green eyes? I saw him
mouth his order to the waitress though the deafening clamors of satellite music
and gossip. My palms, hot from the warmth of chai tea, dripped sweat along my
fingers, forcing the mahogany mug to slip from my hands and plop down onto the
coffee table in front of me. A coffee ring appeared on the magazine it fell
onto - a magazine for which I hadn’t paid.
“Damn it!” I almost screamed before
comprehending that I was in public.
I knew I was left with only a few
options. I could sit there and wait for someone to notice what I had done and
be held responsible for the drenched September issue of Vogue, a
magazine that I had always vehemently refused to read on principle or not so
much principle as the unsatisfying internal feelings I would get with my own
body and wardrobe when I looked at the forever gorgeous size 0 models. Or I could
go up to the cash register and just buy it, but then I’d be losing out on the
perfect seat I had and my coincidental meeting with my future fiancé. So
instead I decided to just put the magazine under the pile and hope that no one
would notice. And that’s exactly what I did.
Meanwhile my eyes were still
glued to this gorgeous man’s backside, clad in his black not so tight-fitting
but flawless tailored pants, which captured the perfectly charismatic movement
of his derrière. Oh yes would I have liked, no adored, to be the one lying in a
bed of satin sheets with this man caressing every membrane of my sensual body.
To feel his long hard hands gently touching my most sensitive areas. He’d tease me with his tongue gliding up and
down around my navel then sucking on my nipples until I’d scream with pleasure,
and perhaps a little pain. Then my hands placed upon his chest, would caress
his body everywhere. His penis tense and at attention in my hands, I’d rub in
strides. His hungry eyes would plead for more and I’d follow with my tongue
licking every inch of his body except for his feet because that is clearly
inappropriate unless one has a foot fetish which would be a catastrophe and
only allots for more obscurities and psychosis. I would never be with such a
man. And I knew for certain this man could not be such a dastardly freak
because he was obviously perfect. And no perfect man of mine would be that
erotically challenged. I would never stand for it!
And there he was, my perfect man,
the manliest man I’d ever seen (only a true man, comfortable with his sexuality
and masculinity would be able to wear such tight-fitted pants - oh dare I
swoon!) standing right in front of me,
as he was then, searching for a seat, his eye catching the empty spot on the
loveseat. But before he could sit down, Bree, my best friend from childhood
(though this act definitely lowers her status in my mind) nabbed it.
“Thanks for saving me a seat
darling” she said before kissing my cheek.
“What?” I said in shock.
“Why you usually just sit in the
middle and it takes a crane to move your large but beautiful arse.” It was
typical Bree, thinking that she could add a British twang to her speech just
because her great grandmother’s third cousin lived in London for a brief stint
of 10 years.
I couldn’t form words anymore. I
was still too preoccupied with my dream man disappearing and heading over to
another empty seat.
“So how are you my dear?”
“I’m all right.” But I wasn’t all
right. My luscious lover was sitting two couches away from me, when I should’ve
been able to accidentally graze his thigh, which would’ve been conveniently
located next to mine.
“I assume school was a bitch
today. But then again, you know what they say about those that assume?”
“What?” My eyes were fixated on
my lover’s spoon swishing around in his café mocha.
“When you assume, you make an ass
out of you and me.”
“Yeah,” I said, watching his soft
lips touch the warm liquid just as I imagine they would press against my neck.
“It tickles,” I’d say, but I’d want him to continue and he would.
Bree’s hand waved in my face like
a mentally-disabled child waving to a passing stranger.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s
rude to stare?”
“Oh, is it really that obvious?”
“Is it obvious that a dick is in
you when you’re having sex?”
“Depends on the size,” I said
without thinking. Bree slapped her leg and laughed. “All right it wasn’t that
funny.” I couldn’t stand it anymore. I got up from my chair, hoping to go
anywhere as long as it was away from her.
“Where are you going?” Bree
called behind me.
“I don’t know.” Where was I
going? He was sitting right near the bathroom door. I took a step towards him,
but he didn’t notice. He was reading the New York Times. Oh he’s not just
gorgeous, I realized. He was smart too!
I had the image of us actually
having an intellectual discussion together that is if we weren’t too
preoccupied with other things. I started fantasizing about the debates we’d
have, the epiphanies we’d share, and the communal experience of rational
thought as we discussed Socrates’ forms, Plato’s cave, Descartes “cogito ergo
sum”. The words from his mouth would be like ecstasy to my ears. But how would
I go about getting his attention? I stood there horribly clueless for a moment
and then his green eyes, looked up to me in curiosity. There were no words that
came to save me from my silence but my lips parted at least to offer some hint
that I was in fact alive. He smiled and said, “Hi,” in a deep baritone. Oh my his
voice was so deep, so strong.
“Hi,” I finally stammered as my
cheeks turned to ripe strawberries.
“Would you like to sit down?” he
asked, casually, calmly, exactly like I wanted my future husband to sound.
“Yes” I wanted to scream, but I
manage to say it shyly. “I’d love to.”
As
I walked out of the cafe, my heart felt like it was going to fly through my
skin into the blue sky above me. I couldn’t believe it! I had a date with the
man of my dreams. After two hours of sweet and thoughtful chatting, mostly on
his end since I was in shock for a good hour and a half, he asked me out for
dinner that night. Suddenly the horrible realization that I had absolutely
nothing to wear flashed before me. I immediately grabbed my phone and called Bree.
“You have to help me!” I said when she picked up and she agreed to meet me at
the mall in an hour.
“I shouldn’t be helping you shop,
really. After all you deserted me. I was
completely left to my own devices after you ran off with that guy. I’d like to
see what would happen if I let you pick out your own outfit for this evening.”
She laughed.
“Hey, it’s not my fault I’m
fashion-challenged.”
“Is that all? Just
fashion-challenged? What about cooking?”
“It’s not my fault my mom was
working all the time and then died tragically when I was still so young and
therefore was never there to teach me how to cook!”
“And what about sewing? Or
dancing? Or painting?”
“What are we in the 1950s? I
don’t need to know how to do any of that stuff.” I rolled my eyes.
“But how will you be a good house
wife if you don’t know?” she teased.
“I won’t need to be! I’ll find a
husband who will cook, clean, and please me in all the ways that women need
pleasing.” I winked but secretly I wanted to be able to do all of those things.
It was my duty as a post-feminist woman to say I don’t want to do any of that
stuff but hide the fact that all I wanted was to meet a rich man who would let
me be a housewife.
Bree first took me to the usual
shops; H&M, Express, The Limited, but we had no luck. Everything seemed
either too slutty or immature. “He’s a real man. I need something like a sultry
black satin dress with a string of white pearls.” I could see the image in my
head but I was too young to appear in it, so instead I increased my age by 11
years until I saw myself at 30, more mature, my face tighter, less soft, but
still unwrinkled.
“How old is this guy anyway?” Bree
asked, raising an eyebrow.
I hadn’t a clue, but I suspected
he was in his 30s, better not to frighten Bree about it though. “I don’t know,
like 30,” I replied.
“He looked older than 30.”
“What does it matter?”
“It matters because you’re 19.”
“So he’s gorgeous and smart and
beautiful.”
“But he’s old.” Her eyebrows
raised and the skin on her forehead creased. She won’t look so good when she’s 30,
I mused to myself.
“And I like it. He’s more mature,
more worldly, more intelligent. He’s not a boy. He’s a man.”
I
wondered what he was thinking. Was he looking at my clothes, and thinking our
fancy dinner date was a big mistake? I thought I had found the perfect dress, a
green silk mermaid dress that would cling tight to my hips and waist as it did
to the mannequin but when I tried it on and stood before the mirror I felt so
inferior to that plastic woman outside the dressing room. Her long thin shiny
limbs looked immaculate compared to my indistinguishable waist and hips. I’m
sure he would prefer to sit across from a gorgeous long-legged mature woman,
who was both petite and had an hourglass figure. I knew this was a mistake, the
coffeehouse was a fluke, me just sitting there idly listening to him talk about
the latest news reported in the New York Times. There was something about Iran
and Syria, and the whole Middle East. I never understood why they couldn’t just
get along.
He smiled at me. I could see some small twinkle in his eye, a
true instance of delight that my presence was giving to him. I imagined the two
of us sitting in an isolated cottage near the sea. I’d sit quietly next to him
as he read the paper, smoking a pipe and he would smile back at me. It probably
wasn’t love he’d find in me. Bree was right, he was too old and mature to see
that in me. Perhaps, he was just looking for a sweet wife to take care of him
for when he got older. But another side of me felt the desire, the longing he
had in his stare. I licked my lips and his smile grew wider. Who cares if I
have a boy body with no difference between my hips and waist, I’m sure he’ll
know what to do with it anyway, I thought.
“Would you like some champagne?”
he asked and what could I say? I would’ve loved champagne, but I didn’t have a
fake I.D. I figured I might as well be honest with him.
“I would, but they won’t give it
to me.” I blushed, ashamed of my infantile youth.
“Ah.” He smirked. “I forgot how
young you are. Don’t worry about it,” he said and he guided his hand along the
white tablecloth until he held my soft hand. His fingers felt rough and they
squeezed mine tight, a little too tight, but I didn’t ask him to stop or
release me. I liked the feeling of his strength taking over. And then it was
gone, his hand, retreated back to his side of the table and he snapped his
fingers to get the waiter’s attention.
“I’d like a bottle of your finest
champagne,” he said and the waiter scurried off to grant his wish. The silver bucket of ice was placed next to
John and as the waiter went to pour me a glass, John shooed him away with the
flick of his hand.
“A little privacy, please.”
“Of course, sir,” the waiter
said. He pulled a red curtain behind him as he left. John and I were alone, finally.
John poured the bubbly liquid until it spilled over the top of my glass. He
glided his tongue along the glass catching all that had escaped from the top.
“Delicious,” he whispered as if it was a secret for only my ears. My heart beat
as if it were a drum, running so fast, racing with the blood that was now a
permanent display on my cheeks. He handed me the glass and motioned for me to
drink. I took a sip and he motioned for me to drink more. I swallowed as much
as I could with a little bit dripping down along my chin. As I lifted the red
napkin from my lap, John gently pushed my hand down and brought his napkin
forward to wipe my chin.
He smiled to himself for a moment
and then said, “You’re special, aren’t you?”
I searched my brain for something
clever to say. “I don’t know.” My glance fell to the tablecloth and then rose
again. “Aren’t we all special in our own way?”
“No, we are not, but you my dear,
are something special. I could feel it
when I first saw you. There’s something about you, and I feel drawn to it.”
My insides quivered. “I feel
drawn to you too.” It was his piercing emerald eyes, staring directly into my
soul, I knew it.
“I want to ask you a question,
but I wonder if you’ll think me too forward.” He took my hands from my lap and
held them in his own.
“No, it won’t. Please ask,” I
pleaded.
“I’d like to take you away this
weekend. I have a yacht… and I want you to come with me for a day trip. Will
you?” His forehead crinkled, his eyes looked glassy.
I felt like I was floating in the
air, through the curtain, over the other tables outside with dates eating their
expensive caviar and drinking their wine and I knew I finally belonged. He
wanted me to accompany him on his yacht. I was in love.
“Oh it was foolish of me to ask,
wasn’t it?”
“No!” I yelled. “Take me. I want
to go with you.”
“Oh you don’t mean that. I saw
you hesitate. I understand, you’re young and beautiful and probably have plenty
of young men following you around, asking you out.”
“No, I don’t and” I paused, how
could I say it to convince him I was sincere. “Even if I did, I don’t want
them, I want to go with you. Take me, please.”
I
didn’t dare tell Bree about it. She would’ve freaked at the idea of me on a
yacht with an older man that I had only met the day before, but it just felt so
right. John turned out to be a little older than I initially expected, closer
to 40 than 30, and with a little baggage of a crazy ex but I thought that added
to his character. He was experienced in life and love and marriage and still he
was choosing to spend time with me, I couldn’t help but be a little flattered.
I asked for directions and took a
taxi to the marina. John had offered to pick me up but I didn’t want to give
him my address since it was my dorm and I didn’t want to remind him again how
young I was. I wanted to be his equal, his peer, someone he could think of as a
lover, if it turned that way. I felt like he was the person who I had been
waiting for all this time; reading romance novels and chick lit, praying for
when my own prince would come and he had finally arrived to take me away.
He held out his hand for me as I
stepped aboard his ivory yacht. Everything was immaculate, from the patio
furniture on the deck to the maroon bar stools in the private bar and the most
impressive was the bedroom with its King Size bed and pristine 1000TC Egyptian
cotton bed sheets. I wanted to take a bath in his white sheets and say goodbye
for good to my cheap overstretched Jersey sheets that were hanging on for dear
life back in my dorm room.
“How about a test run, my sweet?”
He winked at me.
Besides
the gory bits with the blood and pain, I always knew my first time would be spectacular
as long as I found the right person. And I had; he was rough but gentle, sweet
but naughty, doting me with caresses and kisses and licks galore! Oh was I ever
in love! And he was big ;) which of course is something that we girls never
think about too much, but still it was nice to know that my prince was a prince
everywhere.
He nuzzled his nose in my messy
hair. “I hope I didn’t hurt you my sweet cherub,” he murmured in my ear.
“Oh no, of course not.” Although
I did feel a slight burning sensation.
“I’m so glad. I wanted your first
time to be so special, like you.” He smiled at me with his green eyes
glistening.
“But how did you know it was my
first time?” I hadn’t told him, did I
just have a big neon sign above my head that said “VIRGIN”?
“Time reveals all things my dear. I
sensed it at first and then I just knew last night at dinner. I knew you were
different, not like her.”
“Different from who?”
He held me tighter and kissed me on
the cheek. “Oh silly, no one to trouble your pretty little head about.” He patted my head as he spoke. His words were
reassuring, but I still felt an inkling of curiosity. I was sure he was
comparing me to his ex and I knew absolutely nothing about her. Perhaps I would
do a little snooping around when he wasn’t paying attention, just so I could
size up the competition. “I’m going to go up and lead us out to sea my sweet.
You relax here in bed or wander around the yacht, enjoy yourself. The only
thing, it’s just a teeny tiny request that I’ll make of you is not to go look
in the small room with the door perfectly hidden behind a gigantic book case in
my office.” He pulled out some keys from a secret drawer in the dresser that I
would’ve never been able to find on my own. “Ah, here it is,” he remarked as he
placed a tiny brass key next to the bedside table. “Now don’t you go entering
that secret room of mine. Men must be allowed to keep some secrets of course.
I’m going to be up there for exactly 33 minutes.” He patted my head again.
“We’re going to be so happy together, aren’t we?”
I nodded and watched as he went
upstairs. Immediately I threw on my clothes and I texted Bree, “Help! I’m on a
yacht with the guy and I think he’s possibly a psycho killer. Also, I finally lost my virginity, we can
celebrate with cheap orange juice and vodka later, but now save me!!!!!!!! Meet
me at Pleasant Waters marina ASAP!”
To
this day, I’m still shocked at the events that followed. My silly John had led
me on to believe he was a psychotic killer, what with his not so subtle game to
lure me to open “his secret room” as if I’ve never read Blue Beard or The Bloody
Chamber. Of course it wasn’t until all the other chaos ensued that he was
finally able to show me his “secret room” that was chock full of jewels;
rubies, diamonds, opals, emeralds, and so on. Granted it was a rather small
room, but it was still a very lovely surprise and after having dealt with my
best friend trying to murder me, I very rightly deserved a pleasant treat such
as that. But of course I’m getting ahead of myself, so let’s rewind back to
when I still thought my dear John wanted me dead.
He was at the front of the boat
and when I heard the motor start, I quietly dipped myself into the water from
the back of the boat, hoping that the sound would be muffled by the motor.
Since we had just left the dock, there wasn’t that much swimming involved.
Soaking wet, I waited for Bree by the main entrance of the marina. My phone had
died during my watery getaway so I hoped that she would spot me. Bree drove up
in her blue Honda and ordered me to get in. She didn’t say anything as we drove
at first but she didn’t need to since I spent the whole time blabbing about
every detail from the past 2 days. At some point, I realized we weren’t driving
back to the dorm and instead Bree drove 10 miles north of the marina. She turned
off on an empty dirt road by the side of a forest. She reached for the glove
compartment and pulled out a 9mm gun. “Slowly get out,” she said as she pushed
the muzzle of the gun against my neck. “If you try to run, I will shoot you in
the back.”
As I started walking from the
car, I could hear Bree’s footsteps right behind, and feel the gun against my
back. “Walk towards that tree,” she pointed.
“Bree, why are you doing this?” I said, as
tears poured out of my eyes.
“You stupid girl, you couldn’t
leave well enough alone. You know he was mine before you ever set your sights
on him.”
“Who?”
“John, you dimwit. Who do you
think? Only a month ago, I was on that same yacht and he slept with me. And you
know what he did afterwards? Do you have any idea?”
I shook my head as I continued
blubbering.
“He told me to get off the yacht.
He told me, I wasn’t good enough for him, pure enough, sweet enough.”
“So wait, he’s not a murderer?”
Oh my dear sweet John, how I wished I had never left his yacht.
“No you idiot, why would you
think that?”
“Too many Blue Beard stories I suppose.”
“Ugh, English majors and their
imaginations. “
“So wait…why are you trying to
kill me?”
“Because he wants you and I can’t
have that.” She pointed the gun against the back of my head.
What happened next I can’t really
say because I fainted. All I remember is waking up on John’s yacht and him telling me that
everything was okay. He said he had heard when I splashed into the water and
was worried but he didn’t want to frighten me so he followed me instead and
then followed Bree’s car. My fainting was the perfect distraction that he
needed to overpower Bree. Unfortunately she died in the process and my poor
John had to bury her body in the forest. I’m still sorry that I couldn’t help
him hide the body.
“How can I ever repay you for
saving my life?” I asked after we had spent ourselves making love again.
“You can live happily ever after
with me. But first, come with me to my secret room. I was hoping you would make
your way there earlier so I could dazzle you with a delightful surprise.” And
that’s when he brought me to the room full of jewels and told me to pick out
any diamond I wanted as it would be the stone for my engagement ring. I nearly
fainted again as he dropped down on one knee in that very room and said, “Marry
me!”
“Yes!” I screamed and we both
cried with tears of joy streaming down our cheeks.
