offering me alcohol. Of course, he doesn't know that, because he thinks I'm twenty-three or whatever. "Sure, I'll have a glass," I said nervously.
He popped the cork open and poured me a glass, sat next to me on the settee.
"You seem very nervous. Everything OK?"
"Of course... I just haven't — Never mind."
"No, please, go ahead." He was turned to me now in that classic "arm on top of the couch while holding the glass" pose, boring into me with his Tanzanite eyes.
"It's nothing," I whispered, then sucked down my wine like some white trash bimbo downs a beer. Romantic. However, he clearly wasn't trying to get me drunk, because he didn't offer me another. I, however, did help myself.
"Um, this is not a line, but tell me how you stay in such good shape. Do you compete?"
"Um, compete in what?"
"Well, you're very athletic clearly. I wondered if you competed in any physique or fitness competitions."
"What, like 'bodybuilding'?" I said, unimpressed. Prick. I wasn't "buff."
"No!" he chuckled. "Of course not! But there are other leagues... Anyway, from your answer, it's clear you don't compete, so never mind."
"What kinds of leagues?"
"Well, bodybuilding is well, for the 'buff' types. The physique and fitness contests are more for 'shapely' figures."
Shapely? Oh, that sounded nice...
How did he know this stuff? I looked at his dress shirt and tried to see through it like frickin superman. Didn't work. I did see the hollow above his chest, and the tops of his pecs. Not huge, not Brad huge, but definitely firm. Very shapely, like a Calvin Klein model. I was staring at that hollow so much, taking in the few black hairs underneath it and the soft glisten of man-sweat on him, that I completely missed him coming closer to me. Until his lips landed on mine.
-3-
His tongue wet my bottom lip gently while his hand rubbed my thigh up and down. I eased back into the couch, letting him get on top of me. I was so mellow, so relaxed, so full of aching pressure down below that I pulled his shirt and ripped two buttons off of it.
He eased in between my legs, moved his hand under my tee and scraped my back gently with his fingertips. Gooseflesh broke out all over my body and all my muscles tensed. He grabbed the latch of my bra but didn't open it, just tugged at it.
He slid his tongue over mine and we wrestled back and forth with them. I could feel him breathing his spearmint breath into me. I pushed at his chest. God that was hard and firm... I clutched his butt, pulled it against me; let him rub against me to fill that itch, that ache, that sudden need. I heard my breathing quicken even more. His tongue moved to below my ear, my neck, my shoulder—
"No! Stop!" I pushed him off me. It was like moving a mountain, not because he wouldn't move, but because every pore, every fiber eerie cell in my body was pulling him into me, deep, deep, all the way! And yet, I couldn't do it. I couldn't.
I was seventeen fucking years old! And this guy deserved to know it. I know it's legal in New York. But maybe this dude was grossed out by it. And yet, if I told him, maybe he'd lose interest...
My crotch was fucking throbbing! I was breathing so quickly that I felt like I'd just benched a hundred. I sat forward, tightened my legs, crossed them, took a deep breath.
"Leora, I'm so sorry, I thought that, by you coming here... And, to be honest, I got a little carried away. I don't normally do this, actually..."
"Um..." I breathed out, fanned my shirt. "Conall, um... Look, I take it you don't live in New York, do you?"
"No, but —"
"When are you going back?"
"A day or two."
"For how long?" I kept fanning my shirt. It wasn't helping.
"Well, I rarely travel here. We had this one deal—"
"I'll be in London at the end of the year. For, um, work ... Let's meet then. I have your card. I saw your website. I'll find you." I got up, walked out.
Before leaving the hotel I went to the bathroom in the lobby. This could not wait.
When I was done,
He popped the cork open and poured me a glass, sat next to me on the settee.
"You seem very nervous. Everything OK?"
"Of course... I just haven't — Never mind."
"No, please, go ahead." He was turned to me now in that classic "arm on top of the couch while holding the glass" pose, boring into me with his Tanzanite eyes.
"It's nothing," I whispered, then sucked down my wine like some white trash bimbo downs a beer. Romantic. However, he clearly wasn't trying to get me drunk, because he didn't offer me another. I, however, did help myself.
"Um, this is not a line, but tell me how you stay in such good shape. Do you compete?"
"Um, compete in what?"
"Well, you're very athletic clearly. I wondered if you competed in any physique or fitness competitions."
"What, like 'bodybuilding'?" I said, unimpressed. Prick. I wasn't "buff."
"No!" he chuckled. "Of course not! But there are other leagues... Anyway, from your answer, it's clear you don't compete, so never mind."
"What kinds of leagues?"
"Well, bodybuilding is well, for the 'buff' types. The physique and fitness contests are more for 'shapely' figures."
Shapely? Oh, that sounded nice...
How did he know this stuff? I looked at his dress shirt and tried to see through it like frickin superman. Didn't work. I did see the hollow above his chest, and the tops of his pecs. Not huge, not Brad huge, but definitely firm. Very shapely, like a Calvin Klein model. I was staring at that hollow so much, taking in the few black hairs underneath it and the soft glisten of man-sweat on him, that I completely missed him coming closer to me. Until his lips landed on mine.
-3-
His tongue wet my bottom lip gently while his hand rubbed my thigh up and down. I eased back into the couch, letting him get on top of me. I was so mellow, so relaxed, so full of aching pressure down below that I pulled his shirt and ripped two buttons off of it.
He eased in between my legs, moved his hand under my tee and scraped my back gently with his fingertips. Gooseflesh broke out all over my body and all my muscles tensed. He grabbed the latch of my bra but didn't open it, just tugged at it.
He slid his tongue over mine and we wrestled back and forth with them. I could feel him breathing his spearmint breath into me. I pushed at his chest. God that was hard and firm... I clutched his butt, pulled it against me; let him rub against me to fill that itch, that ache, that sudden need. I heard my breathing quicken even more. His tongue moved to below my ear, my neck, my shoulder—
"No! Stop!" I pushed him off me. It was like moving a mountain, not because he wouldn't move, but because every pore, every fiber eerie cell in my body was pulling him into me, deep, deep, all the way! And yet, I couldn't do it. I couldn't.
I was seventeen fucking years old! And this guy deserved to know it. I know it's legal in New York. But maybe this dude was grossed out by it. And yet, if I told him, maybe he'd lose interest...
My crotch was fucking throbbing! I was breathing so quickly that I felt like I'd just benched a hundred. I sat forward, tightened my legs, crossed them, took a deep breath.
"Leora, I'm so sorry, I thought that, by you coming here... And, to be honest, I got a little carried away. I don't normally do this, actually..."
"Um..." I breathed out, fanned my shirt. "Conall, um... Look, I take it you don't live in New York, do you?"
"No, but —"
"When are you going back?"
"A day or two."
"For how long?" I kept fanning my shirt. It wasn't helping.
"Well, I rarely travel here. We had this one deal—"
"I'll be in London at the end of the year. For, um, work ... Let's meet then. I have your card. I saw your website. I'll find you." I got up, walked out.
Before leaving the hotel I went to the bathroom in the lobby. This could not wait.
When I was done,
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