efforts, and I discover that I don’t like that at all. Shit.
I haven’t spoken to her much even while playing the game. I’m not sure she’ll trust my willingness to be helpful, but at this point, I may be the only option she has. She’s not looking at me, but I step in closer to her body and lean down to her small frame without touching her. I already know that touching her causes a much bigger fucking reaction to my body than her scent.
“Buttercup, I’ll help you find your friend. Stop looking like a deer in headlights,” I growl, my lips close to her ear. I’m annoyed that she looked scared and pissed off that someone she considers a friend has caused this. This is not acceptable.
Startled, she jumps. The response could almost have been invisible to the naked eye, but somehow, I can’t miss anything where she’s concerned. She looks over her shoulder at me with her doe eyes, and I have an urge to jump in and fix this predicament. It’s clear I’m not the reason for her fear. Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink, and even though it’s a timid smile, I know it’s real, and the smile is for me. She calms temporarily then like a switch, she adjusts her mood and somehow appears anything other than what I know she’s feeling. With confidence, she begins, “Umm ... thanks, but it’s okay. I’ll find her. Enjoy your night. I’m sure you’d rather enjoy your time with your own friends.” Even with the effort to convince me she’s golden, I know differently. I saw it before she magically hid those emotions under some insanely cool invisible cloak. That was great and all, but still, I’ve already seen the truth.
I ignore her and decide I’ll spare us both the time of convincing her otherwise. Against my better judgment, I place my hand on the small of her back, and the touch sends a jolt through my nervous system directly to the straining muscle in my pants. My cock twitches, and I do my best to ignore it, trying to picture images in my head that will distract the problem in my pants as I guide her through the crowds. Thankfully, the crowds part and allow us through the masses. I don’t miss the sneering of many of the chicks we pass walking through to the less crowded clearing off to the side yard. I came to the party tonight as I do any other, without a game plan for who’d do the honors of getting me off. I never expected this buttercup to waylay my plans, and I’m positive she’s not here on any mission to get anyone off. So there goes that plan.
When we finally make it to the area we can breathe, I release my hold on her back and turn to stand in front of her, thinking I should offer to get her a drink or something. Her eyes are red and wide open. Her breath is rushed, and I recognize all the signs of the oncoming panic attack. Her eyes are unfocused, and I watch as they dart around searching everything and nothing. I know I need her to focus, and if I can, I want it to be on me. I squat a bit and fold my body a full foot to make myself her size and bring my face closer to hers to capture eye contact. I’m not sure if the darkness of the evening is helping her anxiety or making it worse, but it’s definitely giving her a level of privacy, so in my mind, that’s a plus.
Her eyes finally register mine as I watch her intently. When she begins to speak, it’s with a quiver as her voice breaks. “Um … I’m sorry. But I can’t do this. I need to get out of here. Can you tell me how to get out now?” she pleads as she tries to hide the onset of her panic under the invisibility cloak, but it’s too late. She’s passed the point of hiding it no matter how hard she’s trying to keep it stowed away.
Her whisper is barely audible. She closes her eyes tightly locking out everything and saying to herself the words that reach into the pits of my unlovable soul and rip them in half. “Do. Not. Cry.
I haven’t spoken to her much even while playing the game. I’m not sure she’ll trust my willingness to be helpful, but at this point, I may be the only option she has. She’s not looking at me, but I step in closer to her body and lean down to her small frame without touching her. I already know that touching her causes a much bigger fucking reaction to my body than her scent.
“Buttercup, I’ll help you find your friend. Stop looking like a deer in headlights,” I growl, my lips close to her ear. I’m annoyed that she looked scared and pissed off that someone she considers a friend has caused this. This is not acceptable.
Startled, she jumps. The response could almost have been invisible to the naked eye, but somehow, I can’t miss anything where she’s concerned. She looks over her shoulder at me with her doe eyes, and I have an urge to jump in and fix this predicament. It’s clear I’m not the reason for her fear. Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink, and even though it’s a timid smile, I know it’s real, and the smile is for me. She calms temporarily then like a switch, she adjusts her mood and somehow appears anything other than what I know she’s feeling. With confidence, she begins, “Umm ... thanks, but it’s okay. I’ll find her. Enjoy your night. I’m sure you’d rather enjoy your time with your own friends.” Even with the effort to convince me she’s golden, I know differently. I saw it before she magically hid those emotions under some insanely cool invisible cloak. That was great and all, but still, I’ve already seen the truth.
I ignore her and decide I’ll spare us both the time of convincing her otherwise. Against my better judgment, I place my hand on the small of her back, and the touch sends a jolt through my nervous system directly to the straining muscle in my pants. My cock twitches, and I do my best to ignore it, trying to picture images in my head that will distract the problem in my pants as I guide her through the crowds. Thankfully, the crowds part and allow us through the masses. I don’t miss the sneering of many of the chicks we pass walking through to the less crowded clearing off to the side yard. I came to the party tonight as I do any other, without a game plan for who’d do the honors of getting me off. I never expected this buttercup to waylay my plans, and I’m positive she’s not here on any mission to get anyone off. So there goes that plan.
When we finally make it to the area we can breathe, I release my hold on her back and turn to stand in front of her, thinking I should offer to get her a drink or something. Her eyes are red and wide open. Her breath is rushed, and I recognize all the signs of the oncoming panic attack. Her eyes are unfocused, and I watch as they dart around searching everything and nothing. I know I need her to focus, and if I can, I want it to be on me. I squat a bit and fold my body a full foot to make myself her size and bring my face closer to hers to capture eye contact. I’m not sure if the darkness of the evening is helping her anxiety or making it worse, but it’s definitely giving her a level of privacy, so in my mind, that’s a plus.
Her eyes finally register mine as I watch her intently. When she begins to speak, it’s with a quiver as her voice breaks. “Um … I’m sorry. But I can’t do this. I need to get out of here. Can you tell me how to get out now?” she pleads as she tries to hide the onset of her panic under the invisibility cloak, but it’s too late. She’s passed the point of hiding it no matter how hard she’s trying to keep it stowed away.
Her whisper is barely audible. She closes her eyes tightly locking out everything and saying to herself the words that reach into the pits of my unlovable soul and rip them in half. “Do. Not. Cry.
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