Sam told me that Rainier was staying with him for awhile. Two bachelors was how he described it, living in a big house on Alameda Ridge.
"Let me show you," he said, picking up his ipad and sitting beside me. The only other people in the restaurant was a group of women who seemed content with the bottles of wine, the cheese plate, the almonds sprinkled with fresh thyme.
Sam's house was a big ranch style house, totally different from my wild little cottage. It looked out over the city, and was very well landscaped and decorated. He told me he'd had someone do it for him. I showed him photos of my place, which isn't much, but at least I own it.
"That's an interesting drawing," he said, as one of my photos had half of an art print. It was a French erotic illustration that I have framed over my desk. I laughed it off. I could tell he was interested though.
He had designed his house to remind him of his Wyoming childhood, on a sheep ranch outside of Casper. The rain drummed down on the windows, and it was so elegant in the bar. Sam got up and poured us each a fresh glass. I'd only said I would stay for one, but I was having such a good time, and he didn't try to make a move on me or anything. Which made me interested, since the relationship between he and Rainier almost made me wonder...
"Come by again," he said, when I finished my second glass and had to leave. I wrote down my phone number on a piece of paper, and left it on the bar. I'd had a really nice time with him, and I expect he'll call me eventually.
When I got home, giddy from the wine and the flirting, I took a long, hot bath with some rose salts and some almond oil. I felt so clean and warm and tired. I'd planned to masturbate when I went to bed, take my time, really enjoy myself. I'd been touching myself in the clawfoot bathtub I have, rubbing scented oil on my nipples, looking forward to the thick hard girth of my dildo. I love fucking myself with it and then sucking my juices off the realistic glans, and then riding it hard until I come. Sometimes I wake up with it still inside of me, always hard, always ready to fuck immediately.
But then I got into bed and I was so tired that I just fell asleep. And dreamed. I don't remember all of it, but Rainier and Sam were both naked in my bed, their cocks stiff and rubbing over my ass and thighs as we all kissed. I woke up so hot that I couldn't even get my dildo out of my bedside table. I rubbed myself twice and exploded over the sheets, drenching them in my come and then fell asleep to dream again of erotic things.
Wednesday, March 15, 2017
Friday, March 10, 2017
Meeting Sam, part one
Tonight I was at the supermarket near my house, buying some fancy cheese. It was one of those miserable, wet days where the cold seems to creep into every bone in your body. The thing that sounded best was to get home, get dry, and have a nice salad and a bit of brie and a glass of wine. Work on my novel a bit.
So I was dressed with that aim. Rivulets of rain had been running through my hair, and I was thoroughly drenched, my makeup was probably a mess, my feet were uncomfortably chilled. I had a bottle of wine under my arm, and was holding a bagged salad and picking through the plastic wrapped wedges of cheese with my free hand...a true class act.
"Hi," said a man, and I looked up. He was no one I recognized, which sent me into full panic mode. He was probably in his mid to late forties, my height, with slightly graying hair and a sheepish grin. Was he an old teacher of mine? A customer I'd helped earlier that day? Had I snagged the last bottle of ten buck Malbec that he was reaching for, totally heedless?
"I'm sorry," I said, after a desperate moment. "Where do I know you from?"
He turned a bit red. "I don't, you don't, I don't think. I'm sorry. I never do this, but I saw you in the wine aisle, and than I saw you here. I'm grabbing something for the little cafe I own, just across the street."
Holding up several plastic packets of thyme, he asked me if I would like to have a glass of wine at his cafe. On him, he said.
"Look, if you're interested, just swing on by. If not..." he shrugged and smiled. Disarmed, I put out my hand.
"I'm Bunny," I said. His hand was warm and dry, his handshake was strong and firm.
"Sam," he said. I told him I'd think it over and maybe see him later. He walked towards the cashier, and I went back to mindlessly picking through cheese. I liked his posture. It was commanding. I thought of Garrett for a moment, but who knows what was going on with that. And it was a cafe, which was safe enough, not that I really worry much about that sort of thing.
The cafe he owned was only a few blocks away from my house. I'd never been there. Dive bars were more my scene. I suppose it's the cheap introvert in me. Why pay seven bucks for a glass of wine at a place full of snobs when I could pay ten for a bottle that will last me a week? Or better yet, share with a friend.
Unless of course, someone else is buying. I paid, and put the food in my cloth grocery bag (yes, I'm one of those girls). Gritting my teeth, I walked back into the rain, crossing the busy street safely at the traffic signal. A few minutes later, I opened the door and stepped into the cafe. It's named after one of my favorite poets, whom I won't name here for privacy, but I took it as a good sign.
"Hello," I said, stepping up to the cozy wood bar. Sam turned around and smiled. He was opening the packages of thyme and putting the herbs in a bowl.
"Bunny," he said, softly. I smiled. "What kind of wine do you like?"
"Reds," I said. He poured me a glass of Oregon pinot noir and invited me to sit down. I peeled off my jacket, slowly, and though he kept working, I noticed him watching me. I hung my things up on a tall chair, and sat down.
"I've got to go take care of some customers who just came in, but I'll be right back," he said. He knocked on the bar in front of a tall man with an interesting face. "Rainier, keep Bunny amused til I get back."
Rainier is French, apparently, a former Cirque de Soleil acrobat. He'd just returned from his family's home in Normandie, and was back here finding a job.
"I do tarot," he said, "and palm reading. Look, give me your hand."
It was small in his big one, his long, strong fingers running over my lines and mounds and valleys. He laughed softly, and I blushed. He told me that my love life was very strong, that I was an erotic woman. He dropped my hand, and picked up my glass of wine, leaning in towards me as he did so.
"I'll give you my number," he whispered. His voice was so low and commanding, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise. "I'm a very generous man, remember that, Bunny. Little rabbit. I'll come kiss your twitching pink nose."
Rainier leaned back and laughed, drank some of my wine. "What is this horse piss, Sam?"
"Oh fuck off, Rainier," Sam said, sliding his keys across the bar. "You're drunk."
He said it with good nature, though, and leaned across the expanse of wood. I smiled, and thanked him for the wine.
Sorry this isn't exactly erotic, but I think the situation has a lot of promise! I'll finish this up next week.
So I was dressed with that aim. Rivulets of rain had been running through my hair, and I was thoroughly drenched, my makeup was probably a mess, my feet were uncomfortably chilled. I had a bottle of wine under my arm, and was holding a bagged salad and picking through the plastic wrapped wedges of cheese with my free hand...a true class act.
"Hi," said a man, and I looked up. He was no one I recognized, which sent me into full panic mode. He was probably in his mid to late forties, my height, with slightly graying hair and a sheepish grin. Was he an old teacher of mine? A customer I'd helped earlier that day? Had I snagged the last bottle of ten buck Malbec that he was reaching for, totally heedless?
"I'm sorry," I said, after a desperate moment. "Where do I know you from?"
He turned a bit red. "I don't, you don't, I don't think. I'm sorry. I never do this, but I saw you in the wine aisle, and than I saw you here. I'm grabbing something for the little cafe I own, just across the street."
Holding up several plastic packets of thyme, he asked me if I would like to have a glass of wine at his cafe. On him, he said.
"Look, if you're interested, just swing on by. If not..." he shrugged and smiled. Disarmed, I put out my hand.
"I'm Bunny," I said. His hand was warm and dry, his handshake was strong and firm.
"Sam," he said. I told him I'd think it over and maybe see him later. He walked towards the cashier, and I went back to mindlessly picking through cheese. I liked his posture. It was commanding. I thought of Garrett for a moment, but who knows what was going on with that. And it was a cafe, which was safe enough, not that I really worry much about that sort of thing.
The cafe he owned was only a few blocks away from my house. I'd never been there. Dive bars were more my scene. I suppose it's the cheap introvert in me. Why pay seven bucks for a glass of wine at a place full of snobs when I could pay ten for a bottle that will last me a week? Or better yet, share with a friend.
Unless of course, someone else is buying. I paid, and put the food in my cloth grocery bag (yes, I'm one of those girls). Gritting my teeth, I walked back into the rain, crossing the busy street safely at the traffic signal. A few minutes later, I opened the door and stepped into the cafe. It's named after one of my favorite poets, whom I won't name here for privacy, but I took it as a good sign.
"Hello," I said, stepping up to the cozy wood bar. Sam turned around and smiled. He was opening the packages of thyme and putting the herbs in a bowl.
"Bunny," he said, softly. I smiled. "What kind of wine do you like?"
"Reds," I said. He poured me a glass of Oregon pinot noir and invited me to sit down. I peeled off my jacket, slowly, and though he kept working, I noticed him watching me. I hung my things up on a tall chair, and sat down.
"I've got to go take care of some customers who just came in, but I'll be right back," he said. He knocked on the bar in front of a tall man with an interesting face. "Rainier, keep Bunny amused til I get back."
Rainier is French, apparently, a former Cirque de Soleil acrobat. He'd just returned from his family's home in Normandie, and was back here finding a job.
"I do tarot," he said, "and palm reading. Look, give me your hand."
It was small in his big one, his long, strong fingers running over my lines and mounds and valleys. He laughed softly, and I blushed. He told me that my love life was very strong, that I was an erotic woman. He dropped my hand, and picked up my glass of wine, leaning in towards me as he did so.
"I'll give you my number," he whispered. His voice was so low and commanding, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise. "I'm a very generous man, remember that, Bunny. Little rabbit. I'll come kiss your twitching pink nose."
Rainier leaned back and laughed, drank some of my wine. "What is this horse piss, Sam?"
"Oh fuck off, Rainier," Sam said, sliding his keys across the bar. "You're drunk."
He said it with good nature, though, and leaned across the expanse of wood. I smiled, and thanked him for the wine.
Sorry this isn't exactly erotic, but I think the situation has a lot of promise! I'll finish this up next week.
Tuesday, March 7, 2017
Writing and writhing
It's finally turning a corner in my neighborhood. Nubbly little crocus are blooming, and the droopy-headed snowdrops are out. I've been messing around with Garrett a bit, but he's not reliable. He'll say he wants to meet up but then cancels, so I'm guessing there's someone else. Which is fine. Between edits and working out in my garden, I've been so tired at night that I don't need anything.
That will change, though. Spring is so erotic. The garden will be the perfect for a fuckfest when it gets warmer. I'll put candles in all the glass sconces and lay down on my mossy knoll. And there's always the possibility that someone will be watching, a peeping Tom who'll glaze the fence with a big load when he sees us rolling in the grass, sucking and fucking, cocks and nipples everywhere. I can't wait!
That will change, though. Spring is so erotic. The garden will be the perfect for a fuckfest when it gets warmer. I'll put candles in all the glass sconces and lay down on my mossy knoll. And there's always the possibility that someone will be watching, a peeping Tom who'll glaze the fence with a big load when he sees us rolling in the grass, sucking and fucking, cocks and nipples everywhere. I can't wait!
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