Storytime

Heart pounding and stomach in my throat, I stood in front of your door. I should not be here, this was nuts. The whole string of events that had led me to be standing here was crazy. It felt unreal. I was so nervous I was close to panic. No way, I couldn't make myself knock.

Turning away from your door to leave, I caught myself. When would I ever have such a dare dangled in front of me again? For me to decline and slink away or to accept. There was a time I wouldn't have blinked twice. That seemed so long ago, a myth of the person I had become.

I reminded myself that I kept my impulsive nature tightly reigned for good reason. For every amazing experience, there was a consequence. Some consequences were a blessing, some disastrous. Many chances I had passed up, too cautious, and later regretful. I should let this one go too. Could I? Would I wish I had? No, I'm here. I had decided to do this; I couldn't back out now. Besides, my curiosity burned too bright.

I faced your door and raised my hand to knock. The uncertainty, dread, and most powerful, the excitement churned like a tempest within me. I jerked, startled when a raven began cawing harshly from his perch atop a streetlight by the sidewalk. A fresh infusion of adrenalin shot through me, inducing faint nausea. Oh geez, no way, I can't do it. I lowered my hand and wiped it on the skirt of my dress. This was too nerve wracking.

I looked up at the raven, persistent in his raucous cry. "Well, hello Corvid. Something to tell me? Probably I should just go home?" The bird was huge. He went silent, cocked his head at me and ruffled out his feathers, making him look even bigger and somewhat stodgy.

Your door swung open and I froze, my heart skipping a beat. Your brown hair was sticking up in odd angles, like maybe you'd been wearing a hat earlier. You were in a faded gray tee shirt, soft black running pants with white stripes down the legs, and no shoes. You looked amused.

"Out here talking to yourself?" You surveyed the driveway behind me. "You coming in or not?"

"Um, yeah." Flushing, I managed a nervous smile and avoided eye contact. I wasn't about to admit I'd been addressing a bird. I decided it was better for you to think I was talking to myself.

You remained in the doorway as I crossed your threshold, making me pass within inches of you. Even darting to get past quickly, I felt the radiating warmth of your body and caught the scent of the soap you'd used. My heart was galloping in my chest. Wow, I needed to get a hold of myself. Standing just inside your house, I took a deep breath, not sure exactly what to say. I could hear the raven begin another series of loud opinions and resisted the urge to look out at him again.

"You made it. I'm glad you decided to accept my invitation." Your face remained impassive, but the warmth in your voice seemed genuine. It calmed me somewhat.

"I, uh, yeah, um, thanks for inviting me." Oh so smooth, I thought, wincing inwardly.

"Please, come on in," You closed the door. The thud of it shutting and click of the latch seemed unnaturally loud to me.

I wondered, yet again, why you showed even a remote attraction to me. Awkward and quiet and nowhere near the caliber woman I expected would command your attention. I was curvy and maybe cute in a bookish way, but nothing special. I glanced down at the breezy cotton sun dress that adorned me. It buttoned down the front and emphasized the ample swell of my chest and hips. I knew what I looked like and so my bewilderment remained. Why would someone like you even look twice at me? Did I truly want to know? I wasn't sure.

You gestured for me to follow you. My sandals clacked down the beautiful hardwood floor of the short hallway as I trailed behind you. You padded silently on bare feet. I admired how your old, soft tee shirt stretched to accentuate the lines of your straight shoulders, hinting at the muscles moving beneath.

You showed me in to the living room. Two overstuffed couches faced an unlit fireplace and colorful rugs covered part of the wood floor. I could see the kitchen and small dining area through a wide doorway on the far side of the room. You walked over to a small bar along the wall and set two Collins glasses on the counter.

"I have lemonade, water, sodas, beer and several varieties of liquor. What would you like?"

"What are you having?" I really wanted something strong enough to tame the squirrels chasing each other in my tummy, but I didn't want to seem like a lush.

"Something hard?" You cocked your head, eyes questioning. I failed to avoid them and was ensnared. Blue like the desert sky at midmorning. Your words took a different shape in my mind. Fuck me. My mouth went dry and I tried to swallow. You held up a bottle of Wild Turkey with a glint to your eyes that told me that had all been intentional.

"Yes, please." My voice squeaked a little and I grimaced at myself. I hoped the liquor was strong enough. Those squirrels had gotten into some espresso.

I watched your hands as you poured us each a generous dose. They bore a sparse network of scars and scrapes that stood out in their paleness on your tanned skin. Defined and precise in their actions, I wondered if your hands felt as rough as they looked. I bet so. Hands that looked as if they had worked long hours likely were. I thought about how it would feel if you touched me with those hands. Would they feel coarse on my skin? The thought ran a little shiver through me.

You handed me my drink. I took it, grateful for something to do with my hands. Looking anywhere but at you, I searched for something to say. I had no idea how to begin. I still felt surreal, like this wasn't really happening. I took a long swallow of liquor. It burned all the way down to my stomach where it bloomed into mellowing warmth. Oh, that was nice. I took another, smaller drink.

"So," I began, an attempt to break the silence, but failed to find words to continue as soon as you met my eyes expectantly.

"So." A conspiratorial smile on your lips paired with the greedy glint to your eyes created a conflicting mixture of calm and apprehension within me. You looked down at your glass and I breathed a bit easier without that direct gaze on me. "Welcome to my place. Let me give you a tour."

I nodded and you led me from the living room through the open doorway. The kitchen was large with smooth, gray granite counters. To the side was a small dining room.

"Here's my kitchen. And the dining area. And through here," You continued through to another small room. "Is the sitting room. And my office."

Large windows dominated the room. Dark blue curtains were tied back and the room was awash with slanting light from the setting sun. There were several comfy looking chairs facing the windows and a tall bookcase full of books stood next to the door. The far wall had a desk with a laptop on it and some papers. The desk also faced the view. I walked over to the windows and looked out on a nice sized back yard was fenced with oleander, blooming pink and white. Beyond were hills that rolled off into the distance, dotted with oaks. The sun was a red ball making for the hills.

"Nice." I turned to you and smiled, "I love this view."

"Yeah me too."

With the light streaming in around us I noticed fine shards of palest yellow and slivers of darker blue scintillate in your irises. When you looked back at me and the light hit your eyes from the side, they turned to turquoise. The color was striking, but more so was always the intensity and directness of your gaze. It was the intellect and humor that lit them from within that made them so engaging; always seeming to be cataloging, assessing, and perceiving the depths beyond the surface. I busied myself with another sip of my drink. I felt that one. The liquor spread tendrils of mellow warmth from my gut to my limbs and up my spine.

Deciding to investigate, I moved through the room from light to shadow and back to light. I touched the backs of the upholstered chairs and ran my fingertips along the cold, smooth wood of the desk. I paused in a shaft of sunlight. I felt the warmth of the rays penetrate my skin and sink into my bones. I closed my eyes and savored the sensation.

Much too bright though, I thought, for this task. I rounded the desk, passing back into the shadows and instantly missed the feel of the light on my skin. The darkest corner of the room was far too lit for my comfort. I longed for the concealing cloak of night and darkness.

You were watching me make the circuit of your room. My exploration ended near your laptop, the screen dark and empty. I wondered if you had spent any late nights in this room, your face lit by the screen's glow as you read my words.

"I enjoyed your stories. I'm glad you shared them with me." Your voicing of the subject of my thoughts snatched me out of my brief reverie and sent a cold shock through me. You, so casually, spoke of one of my darkest secrets.

"Well, thank you. They're fun." I blushed, definitely unable to look at you now. "They're meant to be, uh, enjoyable."

I wrote erotic stories. Porn, really. Erotica was too elegant a word for the carnal little vignettes that I enjoyed spinning. Even calling them short stories was stretching truth, without much character or plot to speak of; little episodes of sexual depravity. They were merely moments of mingled truth and fantasy woven for my own sheer enjoyment, breaks from my more mundane fiction and technical writing. On impulse, I'd told you about them and then had promptly wished I'd kept my mouth shut.

Your immediate interest had been sharp, which was flattering. And bewildering, especially when you contacted me later about them.

"I liked the stories," you had said, "Would you read one to me?"

"What??" I remembered the feeling of absolute shock. "Like record it or something?"

"No," you had said, your voice so serious through the phone. "I want you to read your story to me here, in person."

I'd told you that I had to think about it. I had been in denial for at least a week. A few more days were spent processing that you had really asked this of me, and then I decided to do it. I still did not really believe you were serious. What if you were? My body began to thrum in response to the notion.

I muted it as best I could. Again I wondered, why me? My thoughts whispered the most obvious answer, easy prey. Here I was, a middle-aged woman, quiet and reserved and too far separated from my last adventure. I'd been good for so long and it had netted me nothing but the worst period of my life. I was blindly trudging my way out of that icy darkness when I noticed you.

After a taste of your charisma, my interest was caught when few things were able to hold my regard. When your casual banter became flirtatious, you gained my full and startled consideration. Now I was here, lured in by my own insatiable curiosity. I knew I was likely a dupe, anecdotal fodder for the next frat party. You were past frat parties. Okay, boys at the bar night. Whatever. My appetite for new experiences had driven me here anyway. Fool that I am.

"So where did you want me?" I kept my tone firm hoping I appeared bold and sure. When I realized how my ill-considered words sounded, I felt my face light on fire.

The idea of reading my own words out loud for you was terrifying. None of those writings were fit for such close scrutiny, the words said out loud, exposing every trite sounding sentence, every corny turn of phrase, or lame lines of dialog. I pushed those thoughts away. If I let them continue, I would have to bolt. Oh hell, why was I doing this? I need more liquor. I drained the last dregs from my glass.

"How about in here? Will this work for you?" You spoke while moving towards me, stopping too damned close again. You had to be doing that on purpose. You looked at my empty glass. "More?"

"Yes. Please. Just a little."

Taking my glass, you excused yourself and left the room. I reminded myself of my plan, my self-imposed limits. Holy hell, I was doing this. In a few moments you reappeared, handing me my drink with an easy, infectious smile. I smiled back, gathering myself with a deep breath.

"So. You've enjoyed reading my stuff." I raised my eyebrows, questioning. Your smile broadened. "And you want me to read something to you." It wasn't really a question. There was only one question I truly had.

"Yes." I hadn't expected you to answer. Your smile was gone but not the one in your eyes. Goddamn. Does he know how that affects people? I wondered.

"Okay. So, but," My throat caught, my mouth was so dry. I took a sip of my drink. "Why?" There, I asked.

You cocked your head and studied me for a moment. Taking a swallow of your own drink and setting it down, you leveled that gods be damned look that said there was nothing polite going on behind those eyes. I fought to look away and failed. I struggled to keep my pulse under a semblance of control and consciously steadied my breathing.

"Because I think it would be fucking hot."

Holy hell. I think he might be serious. You studied me while my stomach did several somersaults. I looked down at my drink.

"Well. In that case. Um, how shall we proceed?"

My nerves were strung too tight. My pulse raced and dread warred with excitement. I reprimanded myself for being so susceptible, gullible. He's not even my type, I thought. I'd learned long ago to avoid the sporty, athletic looking guys. Jocks and frat boys were not the sort to turn my head. I gravitated towards a completely different variety of male.

So, why then was I here? Why did you draw me in? When you decided to be, you were near irresistible. Your particular manner, intelligence, and abundance of charisma made you fascinating. Also, excellent creative fodder for my recalcitrant imagination.

I watched you walk over to the chairs and move one of them so that it sat in front of the window. You adjusted the chair's position so that it faced another chair. Sunlight slanted in at a sharper angle now, casting you in a golden nimbus. Your tan skin seemed ablaze in the setting sunlight. You patted the back of the chair.

"I'd like you to sit right here and make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."

You left the room and I stood very still for a moment, steeling myself. Just words, I thought, just reading some words aloud. Story time at the library, that's all. The image of sitting at the library reading one of my torrid stories aloud made me snort with amusement. I sipped from my glass and set it on the tiny table within reach of my assigned chair. I felt the tingle in my ears and lips and knew I was close to drunk, but not quite. It was easier to shove down my anxiety.

I seated myself in the chair, crossed my legs and sat back. The chair was comfortable, wide and cushy with padded arms. Taking some deep, calming breaths, I tried to push away my fear, trepidation and dread of the anticipated mortification. By the time you reentered the room, I had righted myself.

"I printed it out. I want you to read this one." You handed me some stapled pages and set a bottle of water down next to my drink on the little side table within reach. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure." I said as I perused the document. The pages were worn and creased near the staple where they had been folded back. They appeared smudged in spots and there was a partial stain from the bottom of a coffee mug near the title. I read the title and froze, my insides flashing cold then hot. I had written this one specifically about you. Fuck. Worst case scenario.

"It's fine." I said faintly. I looked up to see your wolfish grin aimed at me. I could not help but smile back, though I was unsure how confident I looked. Steeling myself, I knew I couldn't back out now. Fuck, why'd you pick this story? More than anything at that moment, I wished I could disappear.

"I'll sit here," you said and suited action to words by settling into the chair opposite me. "Do you need anything else?"

I shook my head and took my time pulling my legs up into the seat of my chair, folding them beneath me. I arranged my long skirt so that it wasn't bunched up, trying to get as comfortable as possible. I took another deep breath, opened the water bottle and drank. Oh boy, here I go.

"Whenever you are ready."

Um, never? I thought as a fresh wash of nerves rushed through me. No, I can do this. They are just words. Goddam. Shit. Crap. Okay, just go. I read aloud the title and my pen name. Glancing at you, I saw the barest smile curving your lips, your eyes intent on me. My heart was going to pound right out of my chest. I hated the way the sheaf of paper in my hands shook, betraying my anxiety.

I cleared my throat and began to read the story. My voice shook and sounded tight and forced to my own ears. I despised the sound of my voice. Why couldn't I at least have one of those sultry, butterscotch voices? I continued to read, wincing at every stale passage, my face on fire. I didn't dare look at you. Doing my best not to read too fast, I tried to pace the story as if it belonged to someone else and every word uttered was not tortured embarrassment. I made it through the expository passages and tried not to think of how I would get through the next bits. Or the raw bits after that.

"Hold it there." You halted me mid-sentence.

Glancing up, I saw you getting out of your chair and walking the few steps over to me. You leaned forward and I froze as your hand brushed my cheek as you tucked my hair behind my ear. Damn, I'd been hiding behind that.

Your skin felt warm and dry and the feel of your touch lingered on my cheek. I should have said no touching, I thought. Touching is dangerous; I'm too damned sensitive to it. I struggled in vain to control my pulse as your fingers found the top button of my dress and undid it. You continued on to undo several more buttons. Your body radiated warmth and I caught the clean scent of your skin. Your knuckles grazed me with every breath I took. My whole body had tensed and I had to fight my instincts in order to stay sitting in my chair. Finally, you gently folded back the top of my dress to expose the swell of my breasts and most of the white satin bra that bound them.

"There. That's better." You said, standing back to admire your work. You pulled your tee shirt off over your head before sitting back in your own chair.

I failed to avert my eyes. Fit and tan and solidly masculine, oh my. I wanted to run my hands through the fur of your chest and down your flat stomach. The delicious trail that led from below your navel down into the black waistband of your pants beckoned me. That was a path I wanted to explore. My hands itched with want.

The soft fabric of your pants failed to conceal your burgeoning arousal. The images of the things I wanted to do to you invaded my mind before I could halt them. I could entertain myself all evening just discovering what you respond to, how quickly I could take you from your present state of interest to where you were so hard and achingly ready to explode and begging me to keep going. Desire bloomed between my thighs, fighting to overwhelm my anxiety. I tore my mind away from such thoughts and back to my assignment.

Burying my face in the pages, I picked up where you'd interrupted. I tried not to think of the words as I read them with a shaking voice. The pages trembled in my hands, my whole body tense and strung too tight. As I approached the key exploits in the story I had to stop and take a drink.

I steadied myself, dreading this part especially, trying to block the critical self-doubts of how this sentence sounds versus how it could sound. Or how it should be deleted altogether. I vowed silently to never again submit words that I had not first read aloud to myself. This was a severe lesson in post editing. These thoughts kept me from thinking too much about the actual content of what I was reading; or worse, that I was reading my smut to you, out loud.