Page 1 of Rejection Overruled

1 - Brooke

Sometime in the past…

“Right there ... oh yes ... don’t stop!”

“I’m coming. Oooh… ahhh!” John groaned.

Several grunts emitted from him. Actually, his grunts reminded me of an excited hog. I should know, having visited the farm of my best friend’s grandparents several times. Gritting my teeth, the urge to slap him upside the head was intense.

Frustrated, I pushed him off me and sprang from the bed. The need to scream was almost unbearable. I let out my frustration by stomping around his bedroom, picking up my clothes that were strewn about. I was on a brink of erupting, all I needed was just the right amount of attention to make me explode. John feel short of that and I had already ran out of patience.

In silence I dressed, seething at the idea that I wasted eight months of my life with this man. We’d both been lonely after our divorces, but I could see why his marriage didn’t last. Which woman in her right mind would spend her life with a man who could not fulfill her sexual desires?

“Augh!” I shrieked.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his eyes lingering on my full round hips and the flesh at the apex of my thighs.

Shaking my head, I grounded through clenched teeth, “I can’t do this anymore. I’ve had enough of this shit!”

Dressing in record time, I grabbed my keys from the dresser and was ready to bolt. John stood and pulled on his pants. I was headed to the door with my briefcase in hand when his voice stopped me. I twirled to face him, shooting darts with my eyes.

“I don’t understand,” he said, seemingly confused.

“What don’t you understand?” I found myself breathing shallow from my outburst.

“What’s upsetting you?”

“You!” I spat. His eyes widened and I took the opportunity to vent. “You leave me hanging every single time. Why can’t you hold it for me, just five more freaking minutes?” His face turned red. “Look John, I like you. We met at a time when we were both going through something. But damn it, I can’t take this…,” I threw my hand up, hearing the jiggle of my car keys. “I can’t take this anymore. It’s not working for me.”

I moved towards the door and reached out to touch the handle when he spoke. My hand trembled with the anger rising inside me, while my body was still aching for release. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. How selfish could he be? Then it hit me, perhaps he needed medical help down there. But I didn’t have the patience to help him in that department. I was bursting at the seams, ready to explode.

“I can do better,” he said, coming up behind me.

“No John,” I sighed, calming my temper. “This is where it ends. You need to find yourself a nice woman who doesn’t need more. As for me, I need to cum and it’s long overdue!”

Hastening, I slipped through and snapped the door shut behind me. That was the last straw for me. Eight months, and every time I left John, I had to run home to masturbate. I didn’t mind masturbating, but a woman needed to feel something hard inside her when she came.

I’d began to feel the emptiness inside me a long time ago. I needed to feel fulfilled and my own fingers weren’t enough. John was a nice man and I hated doing that to him, but I hadn’t had an organism in a while, and I was about to erupt. I’d decided some months ago that I would not masturbate after sex with John, that maybe if I was horny enough he could make me orgasm. I was wrong.

My feet hastened to the underground parking garage of his condo. I needed release and I needed it ASAP. I was so riled that I fumbled to unlock my car. Getting into the driver seat, I dumped my briefcase and jacket on the front passenger seat and scanned my surroundings. There seemed to be no activity in the sublevel parking area.

I’d just slipped my hand under my skirt and into my panties when the loud ringing of my car phone jarred me. I jumped and snatched my hand away from my pulsing flesh, praying that no one had spotted what I was about to do. Irritated, I punched the speaker button on the phone and answered.

My voice came out harsher than I intended. “Yes!”

“Brooke, it’s Harvey. Did I call at a bad time?”

It was ten o’clock at night for Christ’s sake. Was that ever a good time to call anyone? I found that my heart rate had increased due to all the pent up emotions.

“Of course it’s a bad time,” I snapped. “This better be darn well important.”

“I’m sorry and yes, it kinda is.”

“Just tell me already.”

“Brooke - the Anderson case - there’s a new development.”

Harvey was the director at the law firm where I worked. Being a divorce lawyer had its perks, but sometimes I wished I’d chosen a different field. Sometimes, I just hated the idea of representing people who didn’t deserve it. Most of all, in that moment, I hated not being able to rub my body until I was in rapturous bliss. My mind came back to what Harvey was saying.

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