The man was nuts. Religious-bead-collecting, money-giving, glutton-for-punishment nuts.
And I couldn’t have been more thankful.
We walked up and down the open-air market and picked out more fresh produce than the two of us could eat for dinner that night. Noah even remembered me saying I dreamed of being able to shop at Pike Street every day. It always seemed like the ultimate food fantasy. The produce was so beautiful and so fresh. Not that I’d never purchased items there before, but never entire meals. Noah had made certain the hotel not only accepted pets, but was also equipped with a tiny kitchen.
I felt like we were on a strange sort of honeymoon. And though I didn’t feel worthy, the idea didn’t freak me out.
AS WEwandered back up Pike on our way to the hotel with three dogs and arms full of fresh produce and fish, I paused outside a shop.
Noah looked over. “You needing a new hookah or something?”
“What?” I noticed the shop next door, a hookah store. “Oh. Not hardly.” I gestured to the place beside it. “Let’s get new wigs for tomorrow. I’ve always kinda wanted to go in here.”
Noah gave the store a once-over, taking in its Hair Fair Wigs neon sign and the assortment of blue, tinsel, and outlandish wigs arranged on Styrofoam heads in the window display. “Really? Doesn’t look like your type of place.”
“Oh, come on!”
Though the shop owner glared at our three dogs and the pile of bags we deposited on the counter, she seemed more than willing to let us try on as many wigs as we wanted.
Once again we became middle-school boys. Name-calling and laughing and being about as stupid as two grown men could be.
We tried on long, bright orange and green wigs. Blue ones with ringlet curls. Black bobs. Tinsel ones that crinkled as we shook our heads. And for each pairing, we took about five selfies. And each one I sent to Kayla, knowing she’d get a kick out of them. I didn’t even stop to question if I should text her or not.
Noah settled on a dark brown wig with shaggy bangs. He looked hot, like a California surfer despite his hipster beard. I chose a dark blond Bieber-style number. I grinned at Noah. “They say blonds have more fun. Let’s see if it’s true.”
He pulled me close and whispered, despite the saleswoman not three feet away, “Will you wear that for me when I’m inside you tonight?”
My pulse increased, and I felt my cock twitch in my pants, like it was playing the part of entering puberty as well. I stared up at him, suddenly nervous.
Noah didn’t flinch away. “It’s time. Please. I need you. I bet you need me too.”
I just nodded.
THE MOVEMENTof the blond wig over my forehead and how it partly blocked my vision as I rode Noah’s cock made me feel like someone else. Someone free of worry. Free of guilt.
Noah didn’t put on his wig. I hadn’t asked him to.
Truth be told, as much as I protested about the wigs, the day convinced me. I’d always loved the anonymity of Pike Place Market, but there was often an occasion where I’d run into someone I knew or I’d be recognized. The wigs truly did let me become someone else. And someone else was exactly who I longed to be.
If I didn’t think Noah would say it was strange, I would’ve worn the wig while we cooked and ate dinner, fully giving in to the fantasy of being someone other than Randall Morgan. Someone without the exhausting expectations and consequences of my family. Someone who worried about simple things like a mortgage, a bitch of a boss, or parents getting older. Someone who didn’t think about the whole world speculating about how much of a slut he was or if children were safe around him.
Someone else sounded beautiful.
As nervous as I was about having sex with Noah, as soon as I slipped on the wig, that sensation vanished. I wasn’t nervous to have sex with him. I wasn’t sure what it was, but my libido shot back into overdrive, and none of those Randall Morgan worries and insecurities knocked at the door to my brain or my dick.
Whatever the power of the wig, it allowed me to slip back into porn-star territory. Complete freedom, which Noah and I hadn’t experienced for the past week or so.
Arching my spine, I adjusted the angle, taking Noah’s length in even deeper. I let my head fall back as I rode him, the wig’s longer tendrils brushing against my shoulders with each bounce.
Noah slapped both of his hands over my thighs, causing me to look down at him. “Stop for a second. I’m gonna cum.”
I increased the rocking of my hips. “Good. I want you to. Cum in me.”
His fingers tightened. “No. Not yet.”
He shifted below me and pulled out in one quick motion, making me gasp.
Noah drew in a few deep breaths, squeezing his hand tight around the base of his dick. “That was close.”
