Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
We stand there like that, catching our breath, holding each other, until a siren sounds in the distance. As if waking us up from a dream at the same time, we straighten. I use her panties to wipe up her ass, tucking them back in my pocket. I’m not done with them. Weaver straightens her top, so her breasts are covered and her skirt is down. I imagine the stickiness between her legs and my cock reacts in my boxers.
Once we’re decent, we stand there, staring at each other. She looks almost shy. Impossibly I’m still horny, I still want to fuck her, taste her pussy on my tongue, but Weaver deserves some explanations, and I have no doubt we won’t be having a repeat performance. Soon.
“Can I buy you a cup of coffee, Weaver?” I ask, going for what seems like the most normal, everyday question a guy could ask a girl.
Relief seems to break across her face, and she scrutinizes mine for a second.
“Throw in some fries and it’s a date,” she says.
“Let’s go.” I extend my hand to her and she takes it. We walk down the alley out to 14th street.
8
Weaver
It’s déjà-vu. Chris and I are walking down the street, hand in hand at midnight, his coat is over my shoulders. But we aren’t in Paris this time, and instead of heading to my rental studio to fuck, we’re walking in Manhattan to a diner to have a post-fuck snack. Regardless, it feels familiar. How could it be that a man I’d only spent a single night with four months ago can feel so familiar?
And then it hits me again, in a shocking wave: we know each other very well, I just hadn’t known that as I was getting close to WildCaptain, it was really Chris all along. It’s confusing trying to meld the two men into a single person.
I’m leading Chris to my favorite twenty-four-hour diner. It’s a twenty-minute walk from the club, and I’m relieved we walk in silence. I’m trying to get my thoughts straight, and I know talking to Chris before I do will just confuse everything.
Did I know it was him? Should I have been able to figure it out somehow and I just didn’t want to? No, I decide. I hadn’t been in denial or ignoring any signs. There were none. Aside from the fact that my mind wandered back to him, and often. I have so many questions for him, but I’m not sure where to begin. The first would definitely be How? My friends and family don’t even know about my website, how could he have figured it out after just one night with me.
And of course, Why? What’s the angle here? It seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to just for another fuck. Oh, but I am glad he’s gone to the trouble. Despite the weird circumstances that led to this reunion, I haven’t felt more relaxed, more in the moment, in months. I have a hundred questions bouncing around my head, but I can also appreciate the warmth of Chris’s strong hand on mine, and the pleasure of walking by his side. And each time I remember his hands tugging my hair, digging into my hips, a warmth spreads throughout my body,
“Just up this way,” I say, breaking the silence of the past ten blocks. “I’ve loved this place since I was in high school and first taking the train into the city with my friends on my own.”
The light in the diner is bright, and it is a harsh contrast to the dimly lit streets. Suddenly it seems like we’re back in the real world, our little bubble has burst, and I feel awkward as we wait at the hostess stand. The hostess is a punk rock chick, with rings running up and down each ear and the corners of her mouth, and hair that is a color I can only describe as nuclear waste.
“Follow me,” she says, without even looking up, and leads us to a large booth in the corner of the diner. Chris and I each enter from separate sides of the circular booth, but wind up sitting right next to each other. We start looking through the diner menus, which in typical New York diner fashion, are about thirty pages long.
“Limited options,” Chris jokes, breaking the silence, peeking over his enormous menu at me. I chuckle in agreement.
Sitting side by side, in this diner, suddenly it feels like we’re on a date. Little nervous butterflies flutter in my tummy, and I search in my head for something to say. It’s hard to remember that he and I, just this afternoon, had a pleasant chat by text. That we joked with each other. That he knew me. It wasn’t hard to remember though how he fucked me just thirty minutes before. I feel a pleasant ache between my legs and I’m acutely aware that my panties are missing, making me worry that I’m leaving a wet spot on my dress.