I have an editor dances around and clapps hands Thanks so much to Kate!!! dances again And thanks to everybody who has feedbacked (is that even a word... I can ask my editor now).
For everybody who requested sex. I DID IT. I wrote my first sex-scene ever. Check it out and tell me if you liked it! (or hated it :( but go easy on me). Rock_on_summer@yahoo.com.
Disclaimer: I wrote this, don't copy it unless you ask. This is fiction. If there are people who are similar to people in the story or have the same name, I didn't intend it. Beware, teen sex, gay sex! Don't like that don't enter, you have been warned.
I'm not very organized, I'm almost messy but I try not to be, because that is something Case is really annoyed by. I find it hard to follow a routine or to do something that I don't feel like doing. I don't see a point in wasting my life with stuff I hate. What I hate depends on my mood and Case is the only person that can make me do stuff I don't like, not even my mom manages that.
"Lucy?" Case was already up, tying his tie.
"Yeah?" I was still half asleep. It was the day after "the fight" and there were no hard feelings. As always my anger came quickly and with a full hearted heat but didn't last long. Being an artist I was allowed to be emotional, or so I told myself.
"Will you go to the grocery store today?"
"Hmm, no, don't think I feel like it." I mumbled, hugging my pillow.
Chuckle from the left.
"Good, because I need what's on the list on the counter to cook us a nice dinner." He said and liked my ear.
"Stop! I'm ticklish there." And I swiped his tongue away and buried my head further in my pillow. As always I slept on my tummy. Very comfy.
"I'll be home at maybe six, maybe seven."
"Hm, that's late." I mumbled into my pillow "maybe I should prepare dinner and we'll just eat when you get home." I suggested sleepily.
"Fantastic idea, I hadn't thought of that." Yeah right, that was his way of tricking me into going grocery shopping AND cooking. But I was too tired to argue right now. Damn, he always knew just when to ask.
"Yeah I'm a genius." I mumbled and drifted back to sleep.
I got up around noon and started to plan what I wanted to do with the living-room. Case had joked that I was turning our house into a museum and I guess in a way it was true. I was going to need the right paint (the paint I used on my canvases wouldn't work) and I had only little left from when I had painted the other rooms, so I had to go to the home-depot to get everything.
I hated to go there. I knew exactly what the rugged, plain people thought when they looked at me. They either seemed to guess that I was not here for chain-saws, wood and nails but to look at stuff for decoration. Or they would look at me like "Fairy, trying to pick up honest, hard-working craftsmen."
Eww. I did not like stinky, hairy, smelly guys. No matter how big their tools were.
In any way I felt totally out of place whenever I went there.
So I called Cecily.
Cecily is a very sweet, kind of naive but in a good, innocent way, country girl, knew about tools but about colours. She is the jeans, T-shirt and baseball cap kind of girl that you can invite over for pizza and a ballgame. She'd bring beer, too. Cecily had been my co-worker on one of my many jobs and after I got fired for missing too many hours we stayed in touch.
We trotted down the isle together and went to the section with wall-paper and paint. I was glad she was with me, because the only other person was this creepy bald guy with a black beard and yellow fingertips from smoking.
"You sure you don't want to look for a wall paper that's a little smoother? It'll be hard to paint on it."
"No, this will do." Go in, find the best you can at the shortest amount of time possible, get out. That was my philosophy regarding hardware-stores. It applied for sex-stores, too, but they were more fun.
"May I help you?" A youngish guy from the staff asked me. His name tag said: Hi I'm Matt and I'd be pleased to help you.
"Ehm, no it's ok, we'll just..." I stuttered, suddenly feeling very self conscious. God, get a grip, its just some guy.
"Actually, we want to paint the living room but we would like to use a wall paper first. But we are looking for something a little smoother." Cecily told him.
"You are right Madam; this has a fairly rough surface. I'd recommend..."
Wow. A guy from the service staff was actually servicing us. Not mocking. I was flabbergasted. I lifted my chin of the floor and tried to follow the conversation which had moved to colours.
"... a great selection of colours for fine patterns. You can mix them, too, and create your own colour."
"Yes, that's good. I want that. Mixing, I mean." I scratched my chin. This guy was being friendly, and it threw me totally of track.
"Well then, let me show the whole collection to you and your wife." Me and my wife!? This must be the first guy that does not think I'm gay. Weird experience. Kind of cute.
Cecily looked at me.
"Yes honey, let's go." Bitch. And I trudged behind them to pick out colours for "our" living-room.
"Remind me that if I ever get married it won't be to you." I whispered in her ear later while we did the check-out.
"Yeah, a shame, too. But Case can have that privilege." I had never really thought about that either.
"Would be kind of weird living with a guy who painted mating men on our bedroom-wall anyway."
"Case let you into our bedroom? I'm so going to kill him." Betrayal! This was supposed to be our private room. We had agreed to never let anybody in there. In fact, he wanted that probably more then I did. It had been his suggestion.
I went grocery shopping on my way home, picked up Case's dry-cleaning and stopped at the bakery to get some good, nutritious whole weed bread and some not as good, un-nutritious sticky donuts. It kind of made me feel like Case's wife and the most shocking thing was: it didn't feel that bad. It was nice to know I belonged somewhere, to be part of a whole and I guess the hardware store episode had kind of made me think about it further. Case and I had been together for a long time, I was surprised at myself that I hadn't gotten bored with him yet. And even though I wasn't a big planner and thinker-ahead, I didn't see me getting bored with Case in the future. In fact I had never ever thought about breaking up with him, not even when I was mad and hadn't talked to him for days. Oh well, he'd just manipulate me into staying with him anyways. Probably had our whole life planned out. Control-freak.
Happily humming I unloaded the groceries and then started planning what I wanted to do with the living-room on my scrap-book.
After I was half done and had lost my concentration I put down the half finished drawings and decided not to start before Friday, so that Case's boss and his wife wouldn't walk into a construction zone.
After that I was bored. Really bored. I didn't feel like starting a new painting and I didn't feel like doing housework. I hated watching TV. And I was bored.
So I called Case.
"Hi bunny."
"Ehm, hi Lucy. Did anything happen?"
"No, nothing EVER happens around here." I complained "I'm bored out of my mind! Help!"
"Bored? You? You're supposed to be the creative part in this relationship!" he chuckled.
"I know! You're making it worse!"
"Well, what do you feel like doing?" he asked me.
"Well, dunno... Sex, I guess."
"Lucy." He sighed.
"Casey you don't suppose you could come home for lunch today?" I asked in my sweetest, most seductive voice.
"Well, I've got to work long today, so a day without lunch doesn't sound appealing. And we won't have time to do both..." he said, but I could hear the uncertainly in his voice.
"Oh I'll feed you lunch, don't you worry about that. But you aren't meeting anybody, like a customer, right?"
"No, not really."
"Great, I expect you here at 12.30 sharp!"
"Lucy, I...."
"This is not negotiable! Be there!" And I hung up the phone.
If Case wanted to be quick he would make it to our house in 20minutes, he had the luxury of taking an up to one hour long lunch-break, so that left us with 20 minutes. I'd prepare his lunch and feed it to him on the ride back. After that I'd either wait for him in the city or drive back here and pick him up when work left off.
I had just finished putting his tomato-mozzarella salad in a container and put bread, a ham sandwich and a donut next to it when I heard the front door open. He was a few minutes early. Good.
I ran to the living-room where he was hastily loosing his tie and shoes. Off went the dress shirt. Struggling to open my belt (why did I wear this awful thing again, oh, right, I was skinny) I pushed down my jeans. In my socks, shirt and briefs I ran to him and kissed him hard on the mouth, running my hands over the light-brown flawless skin of his nicely defined chest while he was hastily pulling on his zipper.
He heatedly pushed his slippery tongue into my wet mouth and dragged me towards the sofas while he fumbled with his zipper. I stumbled over the step and kind of fell, but didn't care because he turned us and cushioned my fall. He rolled us around so that he was now on top, pressed himself against me and shoved his tongue into my mouth. I didn't complain about the hardness of the floor, I knew there was no stopping him now.
He ripped off my shirt, making the buttons hail down on the wooden floor and pulled down my briefs. It was going to be a pain sewing all of these buttons back on later. He had this wild, predatory look in his eyes when he stopped kissing me to unbuckle his leather-belt, lost his pants and threw himself on top of me. No time to prepare, no need to prepare, not wanting to prepare he pushed right in and
"Oh, baby, you ever make it hurt so good." I gasped.
And hurt it did. But it was exactly the kind of pain I longed for when he started pistoning in and out, not giving me the time to adjust, just pushing and slamming, making me moan, groan, loose track of the world, like he did.
I moaned and pleaded him to go easy, he knew me long enough to ignore me while he really put it to me, made me love it.
Long strokes turned into shorter, harder ones. Pulling less on my insides but making me strain to not keep sliding away from him on the floor.
I peaked through my closed eyelids and saw him above me, working with powerful, Asiatic accuracy, each trust matching the first in strength and speed, slamming all the way in. He went back to a few long strokes which caused a sharp, pulling pain on my insides that made me gasp. I loved it as he returned to the quick fucking; the banging that shucked me and now did move me, assuming an unnatural position where he rolled me up into a ball because his knees no longer rested on the step but on the same level as my drilled ass.
I looked at him with glossy eyes, crunched together, my mouth open, breathing heavily. He squeezed his almond-shaped eyes together tightly and with short, really hard trusts started to push in even deeper, touching my dick, sending me over the edge, me pulsing rhythmically around him.
Intense. I felt warm and soft as my muscles slowly unclenched, feeling his weight on top of me. Satisfied. Full of love.
"No, you can't go to sleep honey! Work! Remember? This was just a holiday." I said as I grabbed his hair and pulled his heavy head off my chest. At the word "work" he was instantly fully awake.
"Shit! Are we late?" he asked panicked.
"No, you have perfect time-management as always. Time for a quick shower and to dress. I'll drive you back, you can have lunch in the car."
"Ok, I'll shower." And he kissed me "thanks babe."
He went to get up, which meant he had to pull out of me. Arrrg. After the ecstasy this was a no longer welcome pain, but he went slowly and kind of let me push him out. He pulled out some cum with him and a drop of it landed on the floor. Great. At least we didn't make it to the couch like last time where I was never able to fully get it out of the fabric. But with the few paints splatters people would hopefully mistake it for another paint-stain.
I watched my man collect his stuff and admired his ass, as he walked to the shower. Great view.