Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Do you remember Mister Sexy Pants? I mentioned him a few weeks ago when he introduced me to the pleasures of ogling men in tight pants.
Today, I finally spoke to him again. And even though my valiant dog tried to defend me against a potential attack from his bike, and even though I accidentally flashed him my panties, he was still a perfect gentleman.
Which only gets me going more.
So now, I have a brand-new fantasy. Here goes.
I’m home, standing in front of the mirror, slicking on lipstick, when a text lands from Mister Sexy Pants. Hey, Sweet Cheeks, I’m on my way home from work. (Sidenote: Again, this is my fantasy, so he owns a combination bookstore and calorie-free cake shop. He’s good with his hands too. Obvs.) When he comes home from work, he spots the broken sink, but then calls out to me, “I’ll fix the broken pipe later. You come first, sunshine.”
“And you mean that literally,” I say, then I blow him a red-lipsticked kiss and sashay to the balcony. He follows me and I grab a handful of his shirt.
Wait. Nope.
In my fantasy, he’s already stripped off the shirt so I’m free to roam my adventurous hands across his firm pecs, then over the grooves of his abs.
I let go, spin around, and lift my skirt, giving him a peek of my come-and-get-me undies.
He growls with desire, then bends me over the railing. As he kisses the back of my neck, he whispers the sexiest words ever: “I’m going to give you a knee-weakening, toe-curling orgasm, then make you a panini.”
Gah. I am fanning myself right now.
So yeah, I’m here to tell you that a virgin can know what she wants even if she’s never had sex.
I have an active imagination and I’m not afraid to use it.
Nor should you be.
Fantasies let us explore who we are and what we want. There’s nothing wrong with taking some for a test drive together with a partner. Or alone with your mind. Just make sure you have enough batteries.
And don’t ever be ashamed of your dirty dreams.
I hit stop, then shake my booty. Whew. That felt damn good.
I hit transcribe on the audio file and head inside to edit and clean up the column. When I’m done, I read it again, pleased with this newest installment.
After one final read, I open an email to Bellamy and drop in the fabulous words. Then, as I let it simmer for a few, I jam through my work emails, fingers flying, hitting new productivity heights. Yes! This is how I’m making up for my mishap. With focused, diligent work. Maybe I did make lemonade today after all.
I step away to make a cup of chai to power me through the rest of my list.
When I return to the table, I set down the tea as Hot Stuff jumps from the couch onto the table. I grab for the cup, but he’s faster, skidding into it.
I yank it as far away from the keyboard as possible, the liquid sloshing onto the table rather than the machine.
Whew. That was close.
“Hot Stuff,” I mumble as I trot to the kitchen to grab a towel.
As I clean up the table, Hot Stuff parks himself next to my laptop, licking chai off his paw while giving me the evil eye.
“Yes, that was all my fault,” I say, flopping back down on the chair to finalize the work email as the light streaming through the window turns golden. Hmm. It’s evening now. No one in publishing likes getting work emails at this hour, but Bellamy is a night owl. I fire off the column to her and make a note to double check my editorial letter to Agnes in the morning, then send it when people are arriving at work.
I shower, dry my hair, and pop next door to order takeout Thai with my friend Ellie. When the food arrives, we hunker onto her purple couch with the pad thai and eggplant tofu and place bets on who’ll hook up in this episode of A Gentleman’s Deal.
My Spidey sense for canoodling is on point.
“You win.” Ellie pouts at the end.
“Which means you pay for takeout next week,” I say.
“As if I don’t know the rules,” she says.
When I return to my apartment, I contemplate taking up Just for Her on the offer, but I’ll deal with that tomorrow.
In the morning, I wake up to kisses on my nose, so I hop out of bed, tug on workout clothes, and grab my phone. My notifications are lit up, but that’s par for the course.
I’ll enjoy a quick walk, then dive straight into work mode and take care of all these pesky emails.
I’m properly dressed as I leave home. What an accomplishment.
4
A Deadly Game of Frogger
Milo
* * *
As the sun peeks over the horizon, I’m walking up Hudson Street, Trudy trotting happily by my side.