I remember, it felt good, if not a little intense. But I waited. I remember holding my breath, and forcing myself to stay right where I was. Even when my legs started shaking, and my hips began moving on their own, I waited... And then there was another little feeling. It was like when I'm about the sneeze... a kind of hiccupped breath, and then a little exhale from inside my body, down there. It was nice, and slightly exciting. My body even relaxed a little afterward.
So... my pussy. Yuck. But at least I'm not stuttering the word anymore. Why is it called that anyway? I know many people say it. I've heard both men AND women say it. It just sounds so derogatory. Then again, vagina sounds clinical and foreign. I'm not really comfortable thinking about my body like this at all, no matter what I call the parts.
Well, that little exercise was useless. I'm tired. It's after 2:00am. I should be thinking about important things, like Marcus and my parents, and what exactly they’re going to do to me- NOT about my … whatever. I’m not doing it, so I don’t have to say it. Suppressing a little laugh, I'm done. I need sleep. I am so tired...
Sunday, May, 29th
CHAPTER 9
Waking to the bright sun, my face feels almost sunburned. It's only 8:23, but I feel fairly rested. Maybe, I'll go buy a proper breakfast in the hotel. I wonder if they’ll take cash in the dining-room, or if they only accept credit cards again?
Hopping in the shower, which does NOT have a shower head, I try to think about my body again, down there. Z wanted me to think about, touch myself, and to get familiar with the word. But I'm not 'in the mood’. I don't think I've ever been ’in the mood’. I don't even know what that particular mood feels like. I never touch myself, it just seems silly somehow, or dirty, but not in a good way. Not in a Kayla, dirty-girl kind of way. Ugh! Screw her! I'm not thinking about HER anymore.
I love reading my horrifically graphic, raunchy novels, but even then, when the women touch themselves, I read about it with a kind of detachment. I don't get it. Touching myself does nothing for me. I've inserted a tampon and felt more inside, then when I have purposely decided to touch myself during the what? Two or three occasions... ever. Nope. I'm not doing it. What can Z really do anyway? It's not like he can force my hands down there. He'll just have to get over it.
Shaving my legs and armpits feels good. It's been a few days, oh actually, it's been since Thursday night for my legs, but Friday morning for my armpits. Gross. No wonder my underarms felt all stubbly. Thank god, I threw pretty much everything I own in way of toiletries into my luggage.
Grabbing a bottle of my vanilla-jasmine scented body scrub, I vigorously scrub my arms, thighs, chest and feet. My feet have a tendency to get all dry and scaly, probably from all the heels I torture my feet with. There, all done. My body feels smooth again. No little bumps or nasty dry skin, only scented smoothness.
Out of the shower, I moisturize my whole body with my favorite vanilla-jasmine scented lotion. It's kind of thick, so it always seems to really get into my skin, and it holds the moisture for a while. I love the feeling of touching my legs hours after shaving and moisturizing, and they still feel heavily moisturized and soft.
Drying my hair takes forever. My hair is down now to my lower back, but it’s lovely, well kept, and perfectly straight. I love my long hair, but no one really sees it down but me... and Marcus, I guess. I always wear it up at work. I don't want to look like a 'bimbo' or too young and stupid, or unprofessional by having it hang down my back. I’ve always wanted to be taken seriously and professionally at work, and that would have been a little difficult if I was walking around with a ponytail bouncing around my head in the office.
God, my mother has always HATED my long hair. She insisted until I was married that I must keep it short, in a 'sharp' style, 'that reflected my breeding'. After the first year of marriage, she finally gave up making little comments about 'letting myself go', or 'ruining my appearance' with ‘such dreadful hair'.
Marcus would laugh along with my mother, and tease me about my growing hair. He would joke with her, saying, eventually I would stop being so stubborn and immature. My mother would always smile at Marcus and say, "I hope you're right, dear." And I would just sit there, IN THE ROOM, while they bantered back and forth, talking about me while ignoring me completely.
Applying my make-up is easy. I only have two things to work on; my lips and eyes. I wear no other face make-up, concealers, or blushers. Easily, I apply a pale pink lipstick which brings out my pouty full lips shape and size. And second, the only real effort I ever put into my make-up is on my eyes. I apply long sweeps of dark blue shadow in the crease, light brown shadow on the lids, and a silver shimmer along my lashes. Finishing with dark mascara, my eyes look so large and blue, it’s quite lovely... maybe even ‘alluring’. I love my eyes. My eyes scream 'look at me' without being the kind of girl who screams, LOOK AT ME!!
Dressing is easy this morning. I put on a black cami with a pushup shelf, no bra required and a black blouse over the cami for modesty. And rounding out the look is a simple black skirt. There, I’m done.
See, an entirely monochromatic wardrobe is easy. No matching colors. No question of shoes. No question of jewelry matching. A couple simple pieces of jewelry, and a pair of black heels, Jimmy Choo's this morning, to be exact, and I look totally complete and 'polished', as my mother would say.
==========
Heading for the dining-room, I feel okay. I don't look crazy or stressed out. I don't have raccoon eyes and I'm breathing fine. I hope they accept cash. I'll ask... Yes! They do. After perusing the extensive breakfast menu, I order a cheese omelet with bacon on the side; and I decide to call Z while I wait for my food to arrive.
"Good morning, Sweetheart. Did you rest well?" His voice is so lovely, I smile.
"Yes, I did. Thank you. And you?"
"I slept quite well, however, I did have some things on my mind that were both intriguing and erotic at once." Really?
"Oh, I see." This is kind of sexy.
"Yes. I had quite a few intensely erotic dreams as well. I woke up almost panting... Would you like to hear about them?" ABSOLUTELY!
"Um, no. I'm in the hotel dining-room, waiting for my breakfast to arrive. It seems a little inappropriate to hear about... such things."
"Why? The other diners will never know, unless of course, you put me on speaker phone." Suddenly laughing, I’m a little less stressed out by this conversation. "Shall I tell you about the absolutely delightful, yet shockingly sinful little strawberry-blonde I dreamed about...?" God, yes! Sinful? Me?
"Um, I think I'll have to pass. I don't want every diner here to see just how red and embarrassed this particular strawberry-blonde can get." Tell me anyway! Please!
"Why do you insist on being so reserved, love? I know you want me to tell you about my dreams. I can hear it in your voice. Ask me to tell you. Ask me, and I’ll tell you all about the delicious things I did with the stunning strawberry-blonde of my dreams." Again, I can hear the smile in his voice.
"I don’t want to know such things. You have me mistaken for some other girl." Liar!
"Hmmm, I thought I told you about my dislike of lying. Do I need to teach you a lesson?" A lesson? What they hell does that mean?
"Um, no... No lesson required. I'm not lying. I really don't want you to tell me about your dreams..." I whisper. God, I hope no one can hear me.
"Sweetheart, since you insist on lying to both of us, I'm going to have to show you my dreams." Show me? Yes! SHOW ME?! WHAT?! No!
"And how are you going to do that?"
"At my hotel, of course."
"Ah, I don't think so. I'm not coming to your hotel."
"Yours, then?"
"NO!!" Shit! The table beside me is looking at me. Please, don't get crazy. Please...
"Okay. You won't come to me, and you won't let me come to you. Why don't we choose neutral territory?" No. Way.
"Um, Z? That's not a good idea. I'm sure I'm not the kind of woman who you usually... um...
have."
"My usual kind of woman? Yes, I believe you're right. However, my usual kind of woman doesn’t intrigue me half as much as you do. Therefore, I would like to find out why it is I'm absolutely captivated by you." Captivated? Holy shit!
"Look, Z. My breakfast has arrived, and I need to eat and calm down a little. I don't know how to handle someone like you."
"Handle someone like me? Who would that be? A man who desires you?"
"Yes! That's exactly who. I don't even really believe you. I still think you're playing a game with me, okay?! Just stop doing this."
"I don't think so. I'm not going to stop, and you ARE going to trust me.”
"That’s highly doubtful. I don't trust anyone, ever. Do you remember what’s happened to me in the last few days, Z? My husband? My friend? I tried to trust them, and look what they did."
"I am neither of those people, and I have never lied to you, or betrayed you. I will not betray you, love. You need to trust me."
"Well, I DON’T. Please, just leave me alone. Please, Z. I don't want to do this anymore. It will never work between us. I don't work, okay?!"
“Oh, we’ll work. I know we will. I’m going to make you stop all this reserve, and I’m going to help you feel. You may not know what I can do to make you feel, but I know what I can do. Trust me.”
“Z, I’m not able to do what I think you’re asking me to do, okay?”
"No. It is NOT okay. Pick a place to meet." What?
"I'm sorry...?"
"Pick a place to meet. Now. Pick another hotel, or a cheap motel, or a public park, if you're into that sort of exhibitionism. I don't really care where you choose. But, Pick. A. Place. Now!" I don't know. Where? Think. Ugh, I CAN’T!
"Umm..."
"Now! Sweetheart. Pick a location."
"Um, there is a cheap motel, just outside Evanston on I-92..." I sneer at him.
"Name?"
"'Good Times Motel', I think. I used to laugh at it, when I drove past to visit my parents." I'm rambling now. Good times? Good times? Not for me!
"It’s now 10:40. I’ll meet you there at 12:30 this afternoon. Do not disappoint me, Sweetheart. I know we can have something special between us. I expect you to be there at 12:30 sharp. Are we clear?"
"You sound like a real jerk right now, you know?! What happened to you not allowing anyone to bully me anymore? YOU'RE bullying me!" I yell, to my embarrassment. Shit. Everyone can hear me. I should leave the dining-room.
"12:30 sharp. Oh, and did you think about your pussy last night, while touching yourself?" Gulp. Oh. My. God. Silence... "Did you?" Don't answer him! Don't tell him the truth!
"Um, I thought about it, a little... But I, ah, didn't touch myself..." I whisper again.
"Well, that's a little disappointing, but no worries, I plan to show you what a man can and should do with a stunning woman such as yourself. I’ll see you at 12:30, love."
==========
OH MY GOD!! What have I done? I can't meet him at a motel. I just can't. I'm not like that! I've never even been in a motel before... in my life! Holy SHIT! In less than 2 hours, I'm supposed to meet Z, a stranger, in a cheap motel?
Rising, I leave the table quickly. I had one bite of the omelet, one piece of bacon, and that's it. I don't think I even had a sip of coffee. What do I do now? What do I DO...? Pay for breakfast first. Panic, second.
After a painful conversation with my waiter, I'm free. 'No, there was nothing wrong with my breakfast. No, I would not like anything else, as a substitute. No, you do not have to comp the meal.' CHRIST! He really was annoyingly polite. Leave me ALONE! $11.00 later, plus tip, I’m finally free and back in my room.
What do I do now? Run? Yes. Run from my room. Run away from Z. Yes. I'll run from Marcus, and my parents, and now Z. This is too much. My head is spinning. I'm about to panic again. Breathe. Come on, breathe deep.
“Breathe, love. Listen to my voice. I am pushing my breath into your lungs... Can you feel me in your body?"
NO! I don't want to feel him IN MY BODY!! Sit down! And just breathe for Christ’s Sake!
==========
Slowly, I return to my senses. Looking at the clock, its 12:02. Shit. How long was I just sitting there breathing? What do I do? Just do it! Meet him. I can always leave... Can’t I?
What if he hurts me, or forces me to stay against my will? What if he is huge, and mean-looking? What will I do? Shit! I hate being this scared. I hate feeling like this. Why am I so insecure and frightened all the time? That's it! I'm always afraid. Why is that? Why am I ALWAYS frightened...?
Walk to your car. Now. Just do it. Maybe Z won't be big. Maybe he won't be mean-looking. Maybe he won't force you to stay against your will. Maybe he won't hurt you. Just do it. Now. Okay. SHIT!
CHAPTER 10
What am I doing here? I wanted this. I wanted a... a what? What is, Z? I have to get out of the car but I’m too frightened and paranoid, and even slightly aroused actually, but my fear is strongest and too overwhelming. I just can’t relax, or even exhale, or even move.
What if Z is disappointed in me, physically? I’m still dressed as before; in my black cami and blouse, black knee-high skirt and black heels. I pulled my hair down and my make-up is light. But I find my demeanor is almost hard or something from the fear.
Meeting Z for the first time in person, in this cheesy motel, feels so cheap to me. I know he and I have spoke and emailed frequently, but I don't know him. I really don't know what he’s actually like. He always sounds so strong and secure, and like forceful and dominant or something.
What the hell am I doing here?! Oh, god… HELP ME!
==========
Knocking on the door, Z’s already inside, and I’m 10 minutes late. Opening the door to me, Z steps aside smiling, as I walk into the room. I think he knows I'm uncomfortable and frightened. I think he knows I can't breathe. Closing the door, he turns back to me and smiles once more. I still haven't exhaled. I'm shaking and wretchedly embarrassed. I hate this and I think he knows it.
Dammit, he’s beautiful. He’s tall, and fit, and darkly tanned and strong looking. He is ideal. He has that 'tall, dark, and handsome' female fantasy-thing going for him. Women must love him. God, how disappointed is he in my looks? This is awful.
“You look beautiful, Sweetheart. You’re much more attractive in person than by photo.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. Can I even inhale fully?
Walking a step toward me, Z slowly bends and removes my heels. Without my heels, I drop to my pitiful 5'3, and he suddenly has such a height advantage over me that I can't help but retreat a step. I hate this feeling. I hate feeling overwhelmed and over-heighted.
Bending to me, Z kisses me softly, and so gently. He kisses me, opening my mouth with his tongue as he slowly dips into my mouth. He doesn't thrust into me awkwardly, but rather impales me slowly with his tongue. Kissing my lips, he gently bites and tugs on my lower lip. He pulls away and looks at me again and suddenly I exhale for the first time.
Wrapping his fist in my hair, he pulls me back to his mouth as I brace myself to be taken hard. But, again, he licks, kisses and bites my mouth in slow dragging pulls and finally I feel something; other than bone-numbing fear. He keeps watching me... and I think he knows I'm relaxing slightly.
Taking my hand, Z walks us to the bed and leads me to sit on the edge. Instantly, the fear returns. I feel cold, and I'm completely stressed out. My body is tasking itself. Oh, god! I HATE this! Here comes the thrusting...
Z kneels on the floor in front of me, looks at my face, smiles, and says, "Breathe. I want you to breathe with me. Look at me, Sweetheart. Look! Just breathe." And slowly staring at his handsome face, I breathe slowly for him.
Placing his hands on my thighs, I flinch. But Z just moves his hands back and forth slowly, calmly. He stays away from touching me there and I breathe slower once again. Z watches my reaction, smiles and nods when I’m steady.
Lifting his hands to the buttons on my blouse, a
gain I flinch, but this time my hands clamp around his wrists.
Stopping, Z smiles, "You’re beautiful, love. I love your body. I love your breasts and hips, and your delicious ass. I love a woman who is curvy. I want YOUR curvy body. I want you."
Not convinced, like most women, I find fault all over my body, and I can barely breathe again. Angry with all my drama and insecurity, I give up. Dropping my hands, exhaling hard, I turn my head and mumble, "Fine. Just do it." But Z doesn’t move. Christ! I am SUCH a loser.
After forever, I can’t stand the stillness and silence and turn to look at him. Grasping my hair tightly, Z finally kisses me hard. Eating at my mouth, I’m overwhelmed and frightened, but suddenly kind of aroused too. Z takes my hand and places it on his erection. Jolted, I try to pull away, but he keeps our mouths together and my hand in place against him.
Eventually, Z releases my hair and mouth and once again begins undoing my blouse buttons. Sliding my blouse off my shoulders, he looks at my tight black cami. Knowing my breasts are pushed up and open for him, he kisses the top of my breasts and slides his tongue in my cleavage. I can't feel this. I’m numb. But he stops again.
Looking at me, he smiles and says, "We'll keep this on then?" I exhale hard. I just can’t be completely uncovered, and somehow he knew it.
Suddenly, Z tugs at the bodice of my cami, and my breasts push up and out. Taking a nipple into his mouth, his hand holds my other nipple. Sucking and nipping one, tugging and pinching the other, he works me. I stop breathing. I’m stuck. My hands grip the comforter, but there is nothing, I feel nothing, and I think he knows it. How humiliating.
Inching his hands down my sides, Z slowly lifts my skirt. I can't even move. There is only my silence and my stillness suffocating in the room. Raising my skirt to my hips, Z takes an appreciative look at my black lace panties and rises on his knees again to give me another slow, seductive kiss.