So this is a story about Laura. Laura has her own bookkeeping business, a hot older boyfriend named Jack, his beautiful, new pool to lounge around this summer and even a young pool boy, Mason, to look after all the maintenance. So what's the problem? Well, these days it seems Jack is being a bit neglectful. In this scene Laura succumbs to taking care of business on her own. But it seems she is not quite as alone as she thought. And she's left wondering if maybe pool maintenance is not the only maintenance Mason is good for.
I dash into the family room and fish my special little helper out of my purse. Its smooth egg shape and shiny contours calm me, knowing that blissful satisfaction is near. I don’t lie on my back. I need to be fast and the fastest way is when I can hump down on it in my hand while lying on my front. Quickly I slip it inside my bikini bottoms and settle it between my labia, just over my clit. Even the cool hardness of it feels intensely good and when I ease myself down to lie flat on the sofa with my face buried in a pillow, I click the button on the attached remote and the vibrations purr into action. My hungry body convulses and I stifle a cry.
Oh yes. Oh yes. This is what I need. I won’t be long now. I feel my body winding tighter with glorious sensations and my release is imminent. Oh fuck, yes. I shove two fingers in me too, because I just can’t help it, rock the vibrating egg against me with my palm and come hard, my sex clenching my fingers, my hips thrusting into my arm, into the sofa as I hump, not caring about anything now but ringing every last bit of satisfaction out of this sweet release.
Sated I stand up quickly. I have to clean up fast before Jack walks in the front door. But when I do I immediately see Mason outside, turning away from the sliding glass doors of the family room to the pool deck.
Oh fuck. Oh holy fuck. Mason? What did he see?
‘Laur?’ I hear the door, Jack coming in the front. I stash my vibrator back into my purse, wipe my juices on my thigh, adjust my bikini and smooth back my hair.
‘I’m here,’ I call out, clearing my throat as I hear the shakiness rise in it.
We both walk into the kitchen from opposite ends of the house.
‘You okay?’ he says. ‘You look flushed.’ He looks out the window. ‘Oh, Mason’s here.’ Then back at me, eyes narrowing. ‘Did something happen?’
‘What?’ I say. Did it? ‘No, I – I didn’t even realize he was here.’ Obviously, or you wouldn’t have been going for it on the sofa. ‘He must have just gotten here.’ Just in time to watch you acting like a bitch in heat.
My brain will not shut up from its ranting in my head. Did he see? How long was he there?
It’s only when I’m lying in my own bed back in my own apartment that night that I truly begin to calm down. The rest of the time at Jack’s before he left for racket ball was an uncomfortable nightmare. I kept catching glimpses of Mason out of the office window, as I was trying vainly to quickly finish up Jack’s accounts, or out of the kitchen window, when I’d pad in there to grab a cold drink. Each time I managed a glimpse of him he was staring intently at the pool, apparently focused on his work.
Maybe he didn’t see.
But deep down I know he did.
Was he shocked? Disgusted?
Certainly a guy his age, with all of today’s access to porn and live web cams, would have seen much more attractive women masturbating in ways that were sexy, alluring, enticing. But what I did. Desperately humping a toy on the sofa. God. So embarrassing! I think I never want to go back to Jack’s again, as long as he’s going to be there.
Except there’s just one thing that makes me sure in my head that I will go back, will go the very next day, in fact, in the hopes that he might be there again. There’s one thing that makes me do it again, masturbate again, this time leisurely, slowly, deliciously slowly with all the time and privacy my own bed allows.
That is the memory of his eyes, just as he was turning away from the sliding glass doors. Our eyes met. For a split second we were staring at each other. I stroke myself, run my fingers up and down and all around my clit over and over, tease myself, shove my fingers in my sopping hole and back up to my clit again thinking about what I saw in the depths of that stare, in that solitary moment.
Not disgust. Not embarrassment. No.
And not lust in a knowing way, like in the way Jack used to look at me when the mood would strike him and he’d bind me up in his bed and then stand back to admire his handiwork.
Can lust and innocence reside in the same place?
Oh yes, they can. Powerfully so, I suddenly realize. I saw it in that fleeting moment reflected in his eyes. All the carnal things he wanted to know but didn’t yet.
Oh god. I rub my clit hard, harder, finally thinking the thought that has lingered around the edges of my consciousness since I saw his face through the glass that afternoon.
I want to teach him.
I thrust two fingers inside myself and come hard on my hand, harder than I did that afternoon as I gasp out under my sheets, all twisted around me from my writhing.
Shit. What the hell am I thinking?
That's it for now! Want more? Come out to the SA Writers Centre and actually hear more on July 26th at 7 p.m. Yep, I'm going to read another excerpt aloud. I am! And I'm not going to be embarrassed or nervous at all... Nope, not me... *looks around nervously*