Women’s bodies are a force to be reckoned with, as I quickly become adjusted to the size of the foreign object, I crave more.
Abruptly he withdraws the makeshift dildo, before pushing back in with a slight upward angle, as to kiss my cervix. Apparently, he can read me like a book. He keeps it there, deep within me, pushing gently against that sensational spot. Then I hear the small click. The machine buzzes to life.
My body reacts. Unable to keep still, it’s too much and not enough all at once.
Without missing a beat, he picks up the pace. The shaft of the sleek molded object drives into me, causing reluctant whimpers of pleasure to fall from my lips. Just when I thought I hit my limit, he adds the pad of his thumb to my clit, forming small circles that grow in speed.
It was all too much. Too sensitive. Too overwhelming. My mind awash with pleasure but also a healthy dose of fear, since I literally can’t identify the man on his knees before me. I was getting in my head again, causing the ecstasy I desperately sought to be entrapped within my own thoughts.
As if he could sense my struggle, he takes the same hand that is teasing my bundle of nerves and positions his palm above my pelvic bone, putting pressure on my bladder. How does he know…before I could think more on the matter, his enormous hand spans my mound, reaching my piercing with his finger. He commences flicking it back and forth, while he continues to fuck me with the metal detector, all while maintaining compression on my lower belly.
With three more totters of my piercing, I explode. My cry was the first thing to rip from me, followed by a rush as my walls clamp down on the foreign device. I am floating, unable to hold back the force that surges through. I unravel right there, unashamed, and without reservation. My throat burns and my vision hazy, nevertheless, I could make out the dark stranger before me. His goggles dripping with my release.
“Oh fuck.” I sit up taking in everything that just transpired. “I’m… oh god. I swear that’s never happened with anyone before.”
I put my forearm across my face, embarrassment radiating through me. I’m apologizing to a masked man that just handcuffed me to a stinky couch and played me like a fiddle, until I squirted all over him! I was weird… this was strange. These types of desires were only shared within the pages of my journal.
To my surprise, when I lift my arm, the man was unmoved. Still positioned before me, wet and traumatized? Wordless, he reaches for his phone and clicks the screen a couple times, making the little earbud play a melody.
A drum beat along with a xylophone plays before the words come through, “Never met a girl like you before.”Edwyn Collins – “A girl like you”fills the awkward silence. Automatically, I shield my smile beneath my arm, stealing glimpses of the man as I listen.
When the song finishes, he stands going to the metal desk; he opens a drawer fetching a key for the cuff around my wrist. After removing the clasp, he places the key and cuffs in his cargo pocket before passing me a tissue box from the desktop.
“Thanks.”
We manage to clean ourselves in the most uncouth manner. I was confident I would perish from awkwardness alone. Finallyable to stand, I adjust my tights and begin to collect my belongings.
The chair squeaks softly, as the covert man faintly rocks, watching me pack. He acts as if nothing had transpired between us. I wish he’d say something, anything, but I, myself, didn’t know what to say either.
“Ummm… will I see you soon?”
He nods once, crossing his arms over his chest.
Pulling my bag over my shoulder, I go to the door. Turning the metal lock, I pull the door inside, and step through. We are in some kind of back-office area, still at the zoo. No one in sight, I back out... closing the door gradually, transfixed on the stalker who speaks to me through music.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
CINDEL
Ifall into a routine over the next few days; pulling long shifts at The Black Sheep, watching garbage cable TV, and finding the time to text both saved contacts:The StalkerandIt’s Eamon Actually.
Not to automatically jump to the conclusion that I’ve entered a polyamorous relationship… it could still be the ‘same’ person. One man. Eamon hasn’t been to the bar in a while, either occupied with the Bay Boxing Club or his family being in town. My contact, saved asThe Stalker, will only give brief replies. Simply answering two questions a day on average. Texting him is like some outlandish game show, where you spin the wheel and are forced to mindlessly clap no matter where the pointer ends up.
Cindel: Did I gross you out? Because I’m still mortified! I’ve never done that with anyone.
The Stalker: THAT WAS THE HOTTEST THING I’VE EVER EXPERIENCED. Don’t you dare feelembarrassed. Now I have a barometer for your body.
That was one of his lengthier texts, to date, and I was glad for it. I felt empowered… even sexy. I also inquire about the day of the Craft Bazaar.
Cindel: Are you the one that returned my purse?
The Stalker: Yes.
Another time I ask…
Cindel: Was there a message behind the song “Loser” or is it just your favorite song?
