Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
We make plans for him to come over two days from now, because if I wait too long, I’ll probably lose my nerve and change my mind.
When the men are gone and I’m alone in my house, I laugh out loud. What have I just agreed to? Am I being ridiculous, or am I the luckiest woman alive? Both things somehow seem true.
The memory of Leo’s kiss still vibrates on my lips. What would have happened if I hadn’t stopped him? Would all of the men have kissed me?
It’s still morning, but the rest of my day is spent thinking about the possibilities.
Fantasy 1
13
Leo
It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date, and I’m considering this a date, even though it’s … I don’t really know what it is. An arrangement. An agreement. A meeting that’s been making my dick hard every time I think about it.
Most of my thoughts center around Ms. Martin and her luscious body. The image of her creamy thighs in those little shorts is forever burned into my brain, and I’m very happy about that. Especially since I hope to soon be touching those thighs and all of her other parts.
I also keep wondering what her fantasy will be. What do most women fantasize about? If you used our revue show and the audience’s reaction as a guide, it would seem that cowboys, athletes, and heroes like firemen are the type of men women dream about. But Lorraine said no when I asked her if she’d like me to bring any sort of costume.
I’ve texted her twice since we made our plans. I think about her often, and I’ve been tempted to see if she would be game for sexting, but I thought better of it before I let my thumbs get me in trouble. I get the idea that it would be easy to scare her off.
So tonight I’ll be a gentleman. At least until she tells me that she’d like something different. I hope she likes it rough and dirty. And, fuck, now I’m hard again just thinking about that.
I couldn’t get Lorraine to commit to any specific plans for the night, so it was a challenge to decide what to wear. I opt for something that will work at a variety of restaurants in case she wants to go out, and show up at her door in dark jeans and a long-sleeved tan button down. Most of the classiest places on the island are pretty casual about their dress code.
She’s quick to answer her door, and I confess that my gaze explores her body and the short, dark pink dress she’s wearing before I finally meet her eyes.
“You look beautiful,” I say, skipping over the pleasantries. The dress could be tighter, but it emphasizes the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips to perfection.
“Oh, thank you.” She looks down at herself as if she’s surprised by my compliment. “You look very nice, too.”
“Clean for a change,” I say, gesturing to my clothes. “No dirt or grass stains.”
“No glittery Speedo,” she says, referring to my other work clothes.
“You sure about that?” When I start to work my fly as if I’m about to open my pants, her eyes go wide. “Kidding,” I say, pulling my hand away and holding it out, palm up, to show her I’m innocent. “If I was wearing my stage Speedo, I wouldn’t show it to you out here, anyway.”
“C’mon in.” She steps back and holds the door open, inviting me to enter.
“These are for you,” I say, revealing the small bouquet I’d been holding behind my back.
She looks even more surprised than when she thought I was going to strip on her front porch. It’s just a red rose and a couple of pink flowers with some green leafy stuff wrapped in brown paper, but you’d think I’d presented her with a diamond.
“Why — you didn’t have to —”
She doesn’t even take them at first, until I push them closer. “I felt like it,” I say. “Do you want me to put them in water for you?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll get it. Thank you for these. You didn’t have to bring me anything.” When I shrug and smile, she says, “Come in.”
We’d been standing in her entry, but now she gestures for me to follow her past the living room area and toward her kitchen, where a big granite counter with barstools separates the rooms.
“Have a seat,” she says. “Would you like something to drink?”
“What do you have?”
“Most of the basics.” She stretches to reach a vase from a tall cupboard, and I take the opportunity to check out her bare legs as her dress slides up. “What’s your usual?”
“Beer,” I say with a grin. “But whiskey will do. With water.”
She puts water in the vase along with the flowers, and then gets out glasses and finds a whiskey bottle in her pantry. “I usually drink wine, but I think I’ll join you,” she says with a small laugh.