Stripped (13 page)

I inch my blanket over my mouth and nose, smile and nod.

She screams, “I KNEW IT!!”

“Stone is so…”

“Yummy, dreamy, live porn… take your pick.”

I laugh.

“But why the hell are you home? You must have gotten in late because it was after two when me and Raph finally finished our iZombie marathon. Why didn’t you sleep at his place?”

“That’s sort of a loaded question.”

“Fire away.” She throws the corner of the covers to the side and crawls under next to me. “’Fess.”

“I danced.” The words tumble out in a small voice.

My best friend’s expression goes soft and she looks like she’s going to cry. “You did?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Outside, beneath the lights and planes of LAX, in this old abandoned parking lot. Just him and I.”

“Oh, Emelie.” Her arms come snaking around me and she begins to cry.

“Please don’t cry.”

“It’s been so fucking long.”

“I know.”

“I always believed you’d find it again, but everything that happened was so fucking awful and you got buried so deep…”

“Are you referring to me dancing or having sex?”

She blubbers, “Both!”

“I heard everything!” Now Raphael is in the doorway, and wet lines stream down his face too. “Now that Dirty Aussie’s had you, he’s never going to go gay.”

“Thanks for the love, Raph.”

He climbs into the bed with us, so now I’m sandwiched between the two of them.

“Not that I don’t like being the cream in the center of an Oreo, but this is only a full size bed and the two of you are crushing me,” I cheerfully complain.

They don’t care, they only squeeze in harder.

“I’m happy you got your groove back, babygirl.”

“I don’t know if I’d go so far to say that, but…” I close my eyes, remembering the feel of his hand in mine, the way he held me around my waist, and how my body felt moving again. “It was
so
nice.”

Raph asks, “Then, what are you doing home, sugar beet?”

“Yeah! Why didn’t you sleep over a second night?” Violet shoots me a glance of suspicion.

“He’s great. It’s me,” I affirm. “Because I’ve only ever been a one-man, exclusive kind of girl—and I don’t want to put that condition on Stone. He’s having fun, you know? I want to have fun too. Keep things light and sexy. He’s not playing for keeps,” I reason. “When it ends, I don’t want it to hurt or leave a scar—I want the memories later to feel as good as the present does.”

“Okay, babygirl. I like that you’re playing it smart and having a good time.” Vi gets me. She sweeps my hair back tenderly. “I’m psyched you’re getting back out there. And you’re absolutely right, there’s no reason to set yourself up for later hurt. Have fun, Emelie—that’s why you’re here.”

“When do you see him again?” Raph asks. “Or more importantly, when do we get to see him?”

“He’s coming by to pick me up tonight so I can watch him rehearse.”

“I would love to watch him rehearse,” Raph muses, gazing up at the ceiling.

Vi reaches over and smacks him then says, “Hopefully we’ll be here. It’d be cool to see him in a less awkward circumstance than our first meeting.” She kisses me on the cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you back.”

“Now we…”—she pokes Raph—“need to leave for work or we’ll be late.”

“See ya later, Emelie.” Raph pecks my other cheek, and they’re both off.

All too soon, I’m left to my own devices—literally—I got back too late, or early, depending on how one tells time, and I fell asleep with my vibrator in my hand. Fortunately, I woke up to get a drink and stashed it before the roomies came in.

I roll over, peek into my bedside drawer, and check out my limited tools. I have a small pink plastic “dick” and a bullet massager that’s a delicate but handy clit-stim. Aghast that I hadn’t packed any toys for my stay, Violet dared me to buy them one late night at a pharmacy. She was picking out new mascara and wouldn’t stop ranting about the connection between happy moods and orgasms. To shut her up, I got the only ones the small store had in stock.

Of course, nothing could compare to Stone’s beautiful, skin covered, vein rippled,
real
-BIG-dick-behemoth, but by foregoing his advances and my own pleasure last night, I have become miserably frustrated imagining said real life behemoth.

It will be a long day—and an even more impossible night—if I don’t take care of it.

I figure the bullet will tide me over for now.

It is sort of wimpy, but I always get wigged out when I go online and try to buy some kind of sex-gizmo—I don’t know what size and whose reviews to believe or even take seriously. Some devices look painful; others look plain ridiculous. The ex never wanted to use toys, so I really never invested in any.

I think back to Stone telling me to never apologize for experiencing pleasure.

That gives me an idea. Before I flip the switch, I reach for my phone and find the photo of Stone and me kissing. He’s unbelievably perfect, like a dream, and I know that’s where I have to keep him somehow,
in my happy dreams
. He’s wearing his street dance clothes—loose jeans held by a belt, a wallet with a pocket chain that drapes over his outer thigh, his black tank top allowing for the best view of the bulging muscles in his arm as he holds me in the air.

He’s got a rugged outer shell with a soft gooey center. Dirty, hot, and sexy, plus charming, romantic, and thoughtful, with the equipment to play and win the game. Stone Wright is the real deal and the whole package—
au natural
.

I sigh, keep the photo up, and find the song he danced with at the beach—“Candy Shop”—on Spotify. That’s all it takes, and a few minutes later, I am in the best groove for tilling in my flower pot ever!

Soooooo fucking close!
Imagining Stone’s hand squeezing my ass as his tongue pumps magical rainbows into my vadge makes everything all better.

“Dun dun… dun dun… dun dun dun.” The Jaws theme song interrupts my candyland fantasies and turns them into an approaching shark fin in a sport’s jersey dad nightmare.

OH GOD, NOOOOOO!!!! Anytime but
now
!

This has never happened to me before, but I now know without any shadow of doubt, that there is nothing—
I mean
nothing
—worse than seeing your
father’s face
right before riding off on the enchanted pony.

The moment is gone.

My big, beautiful, budding O has perished by hellish tragedy.

Somewhere fairies are weeping.

And a unicorn has died.

“Dad…”

“I can hardly believe you answered your phone! I’ve been calling for days. What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” I rasp out. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, just checking up on my girl. Are you jogging? You sound winded.”

“YES!” I blurt out loud and fast. “Jogging… great weather here in LA.”

“So I’ll forgive you for not calling back. Glad the sunshine is treating you good.”

Sunshine
… one of Stone’s many nicknames for me.

“I’m liking it more and more, Dad.”

“Don’t be liking it too much, now. I want my baby back home next month,” he tells me. “The company is doing their special summer production of
La Bayadère
.”

When I don’t say anything in response, he fills in the silence. “Hasn’t Viktor gotten ahold of you? Or are you not answering his calls either? He wants to discuss some of the dances.”

“Dad, about—”

“Look, I know the two of you had a falling out, but guys don’t stay in touch unless they’re still in love—he obviously hasn’t moved on, Emilie. You should give him a chance to make up.”

I huff in frustration. “I’m not—”

“Oh, yeah—your mother’s driving me crazy too. Because you aren’t
answering your phone
, I’m getting all of her follow-up calls. ‘Have you heard from Emmy? I’m worried about Emmy!’” He employs a silly, high-pitched voice that he thinks sounds like my mom. “‘Maybe you need to take a flight to LA and check up on her, Frank…’”

“NO! No… you don’t need to do that. I’m fine and well. All is good.” I
know
that last suggestion was all him! My mom would never have said that!

“You really need to check your messages and follow through,” he scolds, disappointment obvious in his tone.

“Yes, Dad. You’re right. Sorry,” I say. “I promise, as soon as I hang up on you—I mean, with you—I’ll call her right away.”

“What could you possibly be doing there that’s kept you too busy to call anybody back?”

I groan. “Dad…”

Just then, my phone buzzes with an incoming text.

Stone: You never said you knew how to swing dance. I thought you said you didn’t dance any style other than ballet. It was hot.

“Emelie, are you paying attention to me?”

“No… YES! I’m sorry. I um… have been…”

Stone: You’re hot.

“I think Viktor wants to…” My dad keeps talking, but how can I listen with what Stone sends next.

Stone: I’m hot. Burning up since you wouldn’t come home with me last night.

Dad continues, “Sounds like they got rid of…”

Stone: Not even two cold showers and a romp with the rubber-maid have been able to quench the flames.

A rubber what?

Stone: Now I’m hiding in my office with my mobile and the photo of the two of us nearly going at it on the hood of my Jeep at the
gas
station.

I take a sharp breath in.
What does he mean by that?

Stone: So if my spelling gets mucked up, it’s because I’m thinking of you with both hands. Sexting with the left, and stroking myself with the right.

Hot air presses from my lungs. A vision of Stone takes over my mind. Him: leaning back in his office chair wearing a sexy designer suit. His tie unknotted, the worn leather belt and cold metal buckle undone and hanging loosely to the sides of the v that the separated zipper of his pants has made, revealing his silk trunks. I wonder what color they are today. I imagine blue.

“It could be a big opportunity for you, Emelie. Get you back in the game.” My dad is actually still talking, but he might as well be on Mars. Or better yet, Pluto.

Stone: My cock is in my hand now, baby, and as I work my fingers towards the head, all I can think about is your fuckhot body wrapped around mine as I fuck you hard against the wall.

I’m starting to perspire—my buried, lifeless O suddenly resurrecting from the dead.

“Dad, I’ve got to—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘go’! I just finally got to talk to you!”

Stone: Mmm, my mouth suckoing in yoiur sweet and jiucxy nipple.

Oh Christ!

Stone: And since thius is my fantassy, Im not wearing a condom. That’s rifght baby—I’m riding you bareback—and I can feel everty bit of your velvety heat.

I’m desperate! “But if I stay on the phone with you, Dad
,
I can’t call
Mom
to tell her I’m okay.”
Please, please, please, please, please!

Super slowly, he says, “
If
… I hang up, do you promise to call her right away?”

“YES!”

“Well you don’t have to shout, Emelie. I suppose I can go choose my fantasy football teams while I wait for you to call back,” he decides.

Oh man, he’s going to wait?!

Stone: Oh fuck, Em! I can imagibne you moaning, pleading for more. Begging in yourt sweet sexy pouty tone

“OkayDadI’llcallyoubacklaterthenbye!”

I disconnect like I’m the Flash, snatch up the bullet and work to finish what was started and interrupted earlier.

Stone: I can’t hold out much longer Em. I get that long mane all up arounbd my fingers. Ilick up yuour neck to your cherry flavored lips then stick my tonguye in your mouth toi swalloiw your moans!

“I can feel it Stone…” I pant. “I can feel you.”

Stone: Now I lean back, hold your deliciuous thighs open with my hansds and watch between us as my cock nmoves slowy in and out of your hot pretty pussy.

“Oh shit!”

Stone: Oh Em my cock is covered in uour sweet juices! Youre so fucking wet!

“I’m gonna, I’m… going to come!”

Stone: Come for me Emm, come all over nme! Zewroprdtfhyjuk

“OH FUCK!” My orgasm hits me so hard—after having been built up and denied as long as it was—that it takes over my entire body in an uncontrollable seizure-like frenzy! My phone is flung from my hand, and I follow after it. Tangled in my blanket, my body pitches off the bed and lands with a thud to the floor below in spasms of ecstasy.

I hear the buzz of the incoming text. My hand gropes around me until it feels the hunk of plastic.