I turned on some INXS, since tonight I needed all the help I could get. Michael Hutchence always got me close. I climbed into bed, arranged the pillows behind me, and slipped between the sheets. In the tiny nightie, my bare legs slid along the cool cotton. There’s nothing like the feeling of freshly shaved legs on high-thread-count sheets. Maybe this was a good idea after all. I closed my eyes and tried to slow my breathing. The last few times I’d attempted to find the O, I was so thoroughly frustrated that by the end I was near tears.
Tonight I began with the usual fantasy roundup. I started with a little Catalano, allowing my hands to slip under the bottom of my nightie and come up to my br**sts. As I thought of Jordan Catalano/Jared Leto kissing Angela Chase in the basement of the school, I imagined it was me. I felt his kisses thick and heavy on my lips, and it became his hands sliding up my skin toward my ni**les. As my/Jordan’s fingers began to massage, I felt that familiar tug low in my tummy, getting warm all over.
With my eyes still closed, the image changed to Jason Bourne/Matt Damon attacking my skin. With the two of us on the run from the government, only our physical connection kept us alive. My/Jason’s fingers trailed lightly down my belly, sliding inside my matching panties. I could feel it working. My touch was waking something, stirring something inside. I gasped when I felt how ready I was for Jason, and for Jordan.
Jesus. The thought of the two of them together, working to bring back the O made me actually twitch. I moaned and went for the big guns.
I went Clooney. Flashes of Clooney came to me as my fingers teased and twirled, twisted and taunted. Danny Ocean…George from Facts Of Life…
And then, I went for it.
Dr. Ross. Third season of ER, after the Caesar haircut had been rectified. Mmmm…I moaned and groaned. It was working. I was actually getting really turned on. For the first time in months, my brain and the rest of me seemed to be in tune. I rolled onto my side, hand between my legs as I saw Dr. Ross kneeling before me. He licked his lips and asked me when was the last time anyone had made me scream.
You have no idea. Make me scream, Dr. Ross.
Behind tightly closed eyes, I saw him lean toward me, his mouth getting closer and closer. He gently pressed my knees farther apart, placing kisses on the inside of each thigh. I could actually feel his breath on my legs, which made me shiver.
His mouth opened, and that perfect Clooney tongue flickered out to taste me.
Thump.
“Oh, God.”
Thump thump.
“Oh, God.”
No. No. No!
“Simon…mmm —” giggle.
I couldn’t believe it. Even Dr. Ross looked confused.
“So —” giggle “— fucking —” giggle “— good…hahahaha!”
I groaned as I felt Dr. Ross leaving me. I was wet, I was frustrated, and now Clooney thought someone was laughing at him. He began to back away…
No, don’t leave me, Dr Ross. Not you!
“That’s it! That’s it! Oh…oh…hahahahaha!”
The walls began to shake, and the bed-thumping began.
That’s it. Giggle this, bitch…
I scrambled to my feet, the Catalano and the Bourne and the ever-loving Clooney fading away in wisps of testosterone-laden smoke. I threw back the covers, whipped open the door, and stalked out of my bedroom. Clive held out a paw and started to reproach me for shutting him out, but when he saw my face, he wisely let me pass.
I stomped to my front door, my heels pounding into the hardwood floor. I was beyond angry. I was livid. I’d been so close. I opened my front door with the strength of a thousand angry Os, denied release for centuries. I began to pound on his door. I pounded hard and long, like Clooney had been about to pound into me. I banged again and again, never relenting, never letting up. I could hear feet slapping toward the door, but still I didn’t let up. The frustration of the day and the week and the months without an O unleashed itself in a tirade the likes of which no one had ever seen.
I heard locks rattling and chains coming undone, but still onward I banged. I began to yell. “Open this door, you ass**le, or I will come through the wall!”
“Take it easy. Quit that banging,” I heard Simon say.
Then the door swung open, and I stared. There he was. Simon.
Silhouetted by soft light from behind, Simon stood with one hand grasping the door and the other hand holding a white sheet around his hips. I looked him over from top to bottom, my hand still hanging the air, clenched into a fist. It was pulsing, I’d been banging so hard.
He had jet black hair that stood straight up, likely from the Giggler’s hands buried in it as he plowed into her. His eyes were piercing blue, and cheekbones just as strong as the jaw. Completing the package? Kiss-swollen lips, and what looked like about three days of scruff.
Jesus, there was scruff. How had I missed that this morning?
I gazed down his long, lean body. He was tan, but not a premeditated tan—outdoorsy tan, weathered tan, manly tan. His chest rose and fell as he panted, his skin coated in a thin sheen of sex sweat. As my eyes traveled down further I saw a smattering of dark hair low on his torso, which led below the sheet. Below the six pack. Below that V that some men have, and which on him didn’t look weird or BowFlexed.
He was stunning. Of course he was stunning. And why did there have to be scruff?
I inadvertently gasped as my gaze dropped lower than I had intended. But my eyes were drawn, as if by a magnet, lower and lower. Beneath the sheet—which was already lower on his hips than should be legal—
He
Was
Still
Hard.
Chapter Five
“OH, GOD.”
Thump.
“Oh, God.”
Thump thump.
I was traveling up the bed with the strength of his thrusts. He drove into me with unflinching force, giving me exactly what I could take, then pushing me just past that edge. He stared down at me, hard, flashing a knowing smirk. I closed my eyes, letting myself feel how deeply I was being affected. And by deep, I mean deep…
He grasped my hands and brought them above my head to the headboard.
“You’re gonna wanna hold on tight for this,” he whispered and threw one of my legs up over his shoulder as he altered the rhythm of his hips.
“Simon!” I shrieked, feeling my body begin to spasm. His eyes, those damnable blue eyes, bore into mine as I shook around him.
“Mmm, Simon!” I screamed again. And promptly woke up—with my arms over my head, hands tightly grasping the headboard.
I closed my eyes for a moment and forced my fingers to uncurl. When I looked again I could see dents in my hands from gripping so tightly.
Tonight I began with the usual fantasy roundup. I started with a little Catalano, allowing my hands to slip under the bottom of my nightie and come up to my br**sts. As I thought of Jordan Catalano/Jared Leto kissing Angela Chase in the basement of the school, I imagined it was me. I felt his kisses thick and heavy on my lips, and it became his hands sliding up my skin toward my ni**les. As my/Jordan’s fingers began to massage, I felt that familiar tug low in my tummy, getting warm all over.
With my eyes still closed, the image changed to Jason Bourne/Matt Damon attacking my skin. With the two of us on the run from the government, only our physical connection kept us alive. My/Jason’s fingers trailed lightly down my belly, sliding inside my matching panties. I could feel it working. My touch was waking something, stirring something inside. I gasped when I felt how ready I was for Jason, and for Jordan.
Jesus. The thought of the two of them together, working to bring back the O made me actually twitch. I moaned and went for the big guns.
I went Clooney. Flashes of Clooney came to me as my fingers teased and twirled, twisted and taunted. Danny Ocean…George from Facts Of Life…
And then, I went for it.
Dr. Ross. Third season of ER, after the Caesar haircut had been rectified. Mmmm…I moaned and groaned. It was working. I was actually getting really turned on. For the first time in months, my brain and the rest of me seemed to be in tune. I rolled onto my side, hand between my legs as I saw Dr. Ross kneeling before me. He licked his lips and asked me when was the last time anyone had made me scream.
You have no idea. Make me scream, Dr. Ross.
Behind tightly closed eyes, I saw him lean toward me, his mouth getting closer and closer. He gently pressed my knees farther apart, placing kisses on the inside of each thigh. I could actually feel his breath on my legs, which made me shiver.
His mouth opened, and that perfect Clooney tongue flickered out to taste me.
Thump.
“Oh, God.”
Thump thump.
“Oh, God.”
No. No. No!
“Simon…mmm —” giggle.
I couldn’t believe it. Even Dr. Ross looked confused.
“So —” giggle “— fucking —” giggle “— good…hahahaha!”
I groaned as I felt Dr. Ross leaving me. I was wet, I was frustrated, and now Clooney thought someone was laughing at him. He began to back away…
No, don’t leave me, Dr Ross. Not you!
“That’s it! That’s it! Oh…oh…hahahahaha!”
The walls began to shake, and the bed-thumping began.
That’s it. Giggle this, bitch…
I scrambled to my feet, the Catalano and the Bourne and the ever-loving Clooney fading away in wisps of testosterone-laden smoke. I threw back the covers, whipped open the door, and stalked out of my bedroom. Clive held out a paw and started to reproach me for shutting him out, but when he saw my face, he wisely let me pass.
I stomped to my front door, my heels pounding into the hardwood floor. I was beyond angry. I was livid. I’d been so close. I opened my front door with the strength of a thousand angry Os, denied release for centuries. I began to pound on his door. I pounded hard and long, like Clooney had been about to pound into me. I banged again and again, never relenting, never letting up. I could hear feet slapping toward the door, but still I didn’t let up. The frustration of the day and the week and the months without an O unleashed itself in a tirade the likes of which no one had ever seen.
I heard locks rattling and chains coming undone, but still onward I banged. I began to yell. “Open this door, you ass**le, or I will come through the wall!”
“Take it easy. Quit that banging,” I heard Simon say.
Then the door swung open, and I stared. There he was. Simon.
Silhouetted by soft light from behind, Simon stood with one hand grasping the door and the other hand holding a white sheet around his hips. I looked him over from top to bottom, my hand still hanging the air, clenched into a fist. It was pulsing, I’d been banging so hard.
He had jet black hair that stood straight up, likely from the Giggler’s hands buried in it as he plowed into her. His eyes were piercing blue, and cheekbones just as strong as the jaw. Completing the package? Kiss-swollen lips, and what looked like about three days of scruff.
Jesus, there was scruff. How had I missed that this morning?
I gazed down his long, lean body. He was tan, but not a premeditated tan—outdoorsy tan, weathered tan, manly tan. His chest rose and fell as he panted, his skin coated in a thin sheen of sex sweat. As my eyes traveled down further I saw a smattering of dark hair low on his torso, which led below the sheet. Below the six pack. Below that V that some men have, and which on him didn’t look weird or BowFlexed.
He was stunning. Of course he was stunning. And why did there have to be scruff?
I inadvertently gasped as my gaze dropped lower than I had intended. But my eyes were drawn, as if by a magnet, lower and lower. Beneath the sheet—which was already lower on his hips than should be legal—
He
Was
Still
Hard.
Chapter Five
“OH, GOD.”
Thump.
“Oh, God.”
Thump thump.
I was traveling up the bed with the strength of his thrusts. He drove into me with unflinching force, giving me exactly what I could take, then pushing me just past that edge. He stared down at me, hard, flashing a knowing smirk. I closed my eyes, letting myself feel how deeply I was being affected. And by deep, I mean deep…
He grasped my hands and brought them above my head to the headboard.
“You’re gonna wanna hold on tight for this,” he whispered and threw one of my legs up over his shoulder as he altered the rhythm of his hips.
“Simon!” I shrieked, feeling my body begin to spasm. His eyes, those damnable blue eyes, bore into mine as I shook around him.
“Mmm, Simon!” I screamed again. And promptly woke up—with my arms over my head, hands tightly grasping the headboard.
I closed my eyes for a moment and forced my fingers to uncurl. When I looked again I could see dents in my hands from gripping so tightly.
