Page 6 of The Curve
“Did you hear anything I just said?”
“I did.”
He just looks at me, weighing my words.
“Come on. I’ll be good. I just want to get to know her. And the kid too.”
“Hmmm,” he says eyes narrowing.
* * *
I assumemy favorite position for a private phone conversation. Stretched out on my bed, in my boxer briefs, ceiling fan slowly turning. I’ve got the pillows propped up behind me just right to support me. On the bedside table is my water, three pieces of Brick’s fudge and the cell. Behind those items stands my lube. It’s staring, challenging me to squeeze one off before I make the call. Thank God I didn’t break the right clavicle. No, it’s already eight thirty. She might be an early-to-bed girl. Ummm. Bed. Girl.Stop! Make the fucking call.
One ring. Two. Three. What the hell? Four. And then it goes to voice mail.
Surprisingly there’s no friendly greeting or sexy voice asking me to leave my message and number. It’s the automated recording that came with the phone.At the sound of the tone, leave your message.Beep.
“Charlotte. It’s Atticus Swift. We met today at the clubhouse. I’d like to talk with you about the picnic tomorrow. It would be great to see you and Mallory there. Umm, so if you get home before midnight, give me a call. I’m a night owl. Okay. Hope you call. Bye.”
That sounded goofy. What the hell is happening here? Grandma Birdie would say I’m taken with the girl. Usually I’m a damn smooth talker. That approach doesn’t seem right for her. She’s smarter than that and my usual spiel suddenly sounded immature.
Out of my peripheral vision the lube stands waiting, calling my name. Might as well spend my time productively. I lose the briefs and grab the tube. Squeezing a generous blob in my right hand, I lie back and get to the job at hand. Literally.
My eyes close. I’ll start with my regulars, that blonde Victoria’s Secret model. No. Kerry from high school. Never got in her panties, but what I imagine her body to look like passes through. No. Tanya. No. Charlotte. Her face pops into my mind and holds. That mouth. Oh yeah. It parts just a bit and I watch as her tongue runs around her lips. Inviting me to have a taste. My strokes are slow. Slick and unhurried. But my dick’s already hard with the thought of her.
Now she’s standing in front of the bed, in the outfit she wore today. Her hands move to the bottom of the jersey and cross at the hem. She lifts it slowly over her head. No bra. Wait. Lacy red bra barely covering her nipples. No. Lacy white bra against ivory skin. Yeah. Faster now. I take her straps down and the bra falls. No, disappears. Nipples, mounds of soft flesh. Pink aureoles. Oh fuck. I’m sucking them and she’s moaning. My hand reaches for her pussy. She’s naked and shaved smooth. Faster and faster my hand flies on my dick. Oh God. I part her and reach inside. She’s so wet. I’m fucking her on the bed. Hard. Harder. She meets my thrusts.
Ring! My cell sounds and interrupts my awesome fantasy. Shit!!! Fuck!! I can’t stop myself; I’m past the point of no return. But I need to get the call. I start to come but control my voice and breathing as I answer.
“Hello?” I say jaw tensed, sounding as if there’s a knife to my throat.
My legs stretch and my toes curl. Cum squirts out the head of my dick and onto my new bedding. It’s a small load, cut short by the interruption. I’m shaking with the effort to control myself.
“Atticus? You okay?”
I thought I was selling it. “Hi, Charlotte. Oh yeah, I’m fine. Just doing a little weight work.” That’s not a complete lie, my dick’s no small thing.
“With your arm in a sling?”
“It’s a one-armed exercise,” I say. Well that’s true too.
“Oh. Your brother told us about the charity picnic. Thank you for the invite. Sounds nice. But I’m not sure Mallory would be comfortable in that setting.”
“Why not? There’s going to be lots of kids there.” My heartbeat tries to regain its normal beat.
“That’s the problem.”
“She seemed to have fun today,” I say grabbing some tissue and cleaning myself.
“After you left, we had a small problem. One of the boys made fun of her and we left with her crying. It happens. But it’s the kind of behavior that’s affected her deeply. You understand, I’m sure. But thank you for thinking of us. Maybe another time.”
“Let me talk to her.”
“What? No. I don’t think that’s a good idea. She’d be embarrassed I told you.”
“I’m not going to tell her you told me. Let me talk to her. Go get her.”
There’s a hesitation and then, “Alright, but be careful what you say. She’s very sensitive.”
