Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
I’ve never experienced such a frenzy of attraction before. It’s like I’m addicted to him. His smiles, his touch, when he winks at me, or when he makes those nervous moans he tries to hold in, only to always fail, uttering soft gasps in my ear. When I hold his sturdy body in my arms, I know he’s what I need. And later today, I’ll see him again.
It’s been four days since our last meeting, and the anticipation is starting to grate on me. Last time, he had me come at sunrise, to reveal that he planned to fish for our breakfast. I’m not the patient kind, so while I did follow him onto the boat, keeping my hands to myself proved impossible. We almost landed in the cold water, along with his equipment, but it was worth it.
The fish didn’t taste half bad after the fucking.
Sometimes when I lie in my own bed at night, listening to the cats fighting, I do wonder how I managed to ignore our ten-year feud. Am I that horny? Is it the different sides of Clyde I’m seeing that affect me this way? And I don’t mean his ass, even though those dimples could make a man forget any wrongdoings. Maybe it’s because he’s such a safe option for this mutually beneficial exchange of pleasure? Not really. He’ll keep my secret, but choosing him for sex is as dangerous as it gets. So is it that he yields to me like a beautiful animal? It attracts me like snacks luring the cats in every morning. But just like with the felines, some days I wonder who’s in charge. Is it me, because he gives me head as if it’s his favorite pastime, or is Clyde holding the strings because I’m so desperate for his touch?
The more I think about him, the less I can focus on my carving, so I put it down and grab my phone, hoping for a scrap of sexting while I wait to see him. But what do I send? Something filthy? A picture of my cock, or chest? I want to tell him how Rooster got drunk last night and ended up dancing with two chickens in his arms, but that’s something that might not be as funny without the visuals.
Exhaling, I trace the name Sue on the screen. That’s how I disguise his real identity, in case someone sees an incoming message from him. The attached icon features a female body clad in a sparse bikini. I imagine photographing him later today and gathering the pictures in a secret folder, where I could keep them forever.
Will he eventually get bored of the secrecy and find someone whose dick he can suck without betraying his club? The phone creaks as I squeeze it, so I shake my head at my own idiocy and send Clyde a quick, [So horny not gonna jerkoff tho, savin my cum for yu]
At night, he answers fast, but daytime is very patchy. I can only hope he’s alone and available to answer. I’m not even self-conscious about my spelling anymore. Clyde teased me about it once, but I shot back that I only have one hand available when writing to him, and he’s never mentioned it again.
Just seeing that my message got read, and then the three dots of him writing makes my heart beat faster.
Clyde: [You might have to. Sorry. I wanted to see you, but something came up. It’s important, so I have to go. Don’t call.]
The pressure in my head grows so fast I feel as if my skull might crack, and my thumb goes for the green button… to press the red one before a connection can be established.
Instead, I rest my elbows on my knees and type, [Wat? Why? We can muv it to a bit late]
How am I supposed to wait another day? This is such bullshit. I have to get up and walk around my cabin, but it’s not helping. My eyes are glued to the screen, and this time my message hasn’t even been read. Does he really think he’s the only one to call the shots? What about me and what I want?
[When?] I write in frustration, feeling like a junkie begging for his next hit.
No answer.
I have to stop myself from throwing the phone at the wall. I wish I could shoot whoever’s cockblocking me today.
[Clyde?]
The ping from my phone makes me salivate as if I’m a dog smelling sausage, but my shoulders fall when I see it’s from Suzie. I don’t know her that well, but all the members of our little community have my number if shit needs to be dealt with.
There’s a problem, because of course there is, but at least I’ll be too busy to dwell on the shafting Clyde’s delivered. One of the cats gets spooked when I shoot up so fast the chair drops, but I don’t check which one it is, just head down the path, past people’s homes, the canteen, the playhouse, and then even farther, to the very back of our settlement, to a fenced-off area most people can access only under supervision. Our clubhouse is a large cabin that used to house parents visiting their kids at the summer camp. Made of whole logs and regularly maintained, it’s a sight to behold despite the concrete barriers around the porch, put there for the unlikely event of an armed confrontation. Behind it stands a rock wall and sheds put there to divert the attention from the area no outsider can know about.