Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, .
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Jessie shares fantasy sports with an online friend, who begins to influence her life in other ways. He seems perfect, but can she handle the truth?
I got into online fantasy sports because of my brother. He made a macho comment about it being a guy thing so I had to prove him wrong. I started with baseball, but pretty soon I was doing everything—all the real sports plus NASCAR and golf, just because they were there.
I guess it was an addiction. At times I was managing a dozen fantasy teams, when the seasons overlapped like with hockey, basketball and football. That was okay, because I didn't have much of a life, plus I was really, really good at it. And not just because I was willing to put the time into poring over waiver lists and keeping track of the stats. I think I had a sixth sense about picking players.
Being a woman made it even more fun. The other fantasy owners were mainly guys, and they never took me seriously until it was too late. I had to put up with a lot of stupid comments on the league message boards, but it was worth it when I ended up kicking everyone's butt.
My name is Jessie. It's really Jessica but no one called me that. At work everyone called me Ms. Parker, usually in squeaky, slobbery, finger-in-the-nose voices because I taught second grade. They were great kids but, believe me, when I got home I needed a diversion.
I'd been teaching for eight years, and—even though I still liked it—the enthusiasm I had when I first got out of college was fading. I was thirty years old and all I had to show for it was a six-year old car and a seventy-year old house.
My house was my other hobby. It was a great old Victorian-style two-story that I got cheap because it needed so much work. It's in an older part of Baltimore, but the neighborhood was pretty stable—no gangs and not much crime. The house had fantastic bay windows and deep moldings and dark hardwood floors and two fireplaces. And bad plumbing, and fuses that blew if you had two appliances turned on at the same time, and a basement that leaked.
I know what you're thinking. She's into sports big time, handy with tools and lives alone. Well, you're wrong. I like guys, a lot. It's just that I never met any nice ones. I was engaged for a while, and I thought Ned was Mr. Right. But after we got engaged he moved in with me, and everything changed. He drank a lot, and it seemed like nothing I did was okay. The first couple of times he hit me I made excuses for him.
Then Ned hurt me pretty badly. I was in the hospital for a while, and when I got out the cops made sure he stayed away from me. After that I guess I was scared of getting close. I dated, but rarely more than a couple of times with any guy, usually with friends of friends.
So I was by myself a lot, with my collection of vibrators. I had my dog, Binky, to warm my bed at night. He's a Westie, the white, Scotty-looking dogs that are on all the dog food packages.
And I had my fantasy teams. We were in the sixth week of the NFL season, and three of my four teams were in first place. I spent more time on one of them, because the league was fun. Well, one of the other owners was fun. He was in fourth place in my division. Not because he was stupid—just distracted. Sometimes he'd surprise me and beat me out for players on waivers and do really well. Other weeks he'd forget to take guys on bye-weeks out of his lineup.
His name was Dave Camp, and I guessed that he lived in California. His team was called the LA Raiders—he said he never forgave them for moving back to Oakland. We did a trade early on, so he had my IM address. Sometimes I didn't hear from him for a while but he usually congratulated me on Sundays, and sometimes I got messages from him late at night. I loved that.
It wasn't kinky, like cyber-sex. He asked about my life and sometimes gave me advice. It was easier to talk about my problems with him because I didn't know him that well, at least not in person. Sometimes I thought about what he might look like. Okay, I usually had a vibrator in my hand at the time. I knew he was smart, and had a great sense of humor. He knew a lot about sports from twenty or thirty years ago, so I guessed that he was older than me.
Anyway, it's not like I didn't have real friends. I hung around with women I knew from college sometimes, but most of them were married. And I did stuff with the couple that lived next door—George and Alice. They're both accountants and they entertained a lot. And they tried to fix me up with guys.
They invited me to a party at their house, a mix of people they knew from work and from the neighborhood. It was couples except me and this guy named Sean who worked with Alice.
Sean seemed nice, and he sure was cute. He acted like he was impressed with me, too. I was in a daring mood and went in a halter-top and shorts. It was the beginning of October, but it was unseasonably hot. Global warming and all.
I've got a pretty nice body for my age. I'm tall—almost five-nine—and slim because I work out a lot. I have long, chestnut brown hair that's naturally wavy and that I usually wear loose. The halter-top made my boobs look bigger than they are, and Sean noticed. I think being a second grade teacher made me want to dress sexy when I was around adults, for the change of pace from modest pant-suits and sensible shoes.
I'd had a few beers, and was feeling good. I think Sean was trying to get me drunk—he kept bringing me fresh bottles of Corona. We were sitting outside with Alice and some of the neighbors.
"Well, I don't care why. I like it," Brenda Goldman said. She lived across the street. I hadn't been paying attention to the conversation because I was trying to decide if Sean would be good in bed. He was attentive, had nice eyes, and couldn't keep them off my tits—all good signs.
"You like what?" I asked.
"All the cops," she answered, frowning. Sean came to my rescue.
"Brenda says they've been patrolling the neighborhood a lot lately."
"Not just patrolling," she corrected. "There's a car down by the convenience store almost all the time. Where you got mugged by those kids."
Brenda was kind of a busybody. She lived alone, was maybe ten years older than me, and she taught at the local junior college. I guess you'd call her something like "voluptuous", if you were being nice about it. She was short, with big boobs and a really big butt.
"I didn't get mugged. They just hassled me a little," I said. Come to think of it, I had noticed more cops lately. "I guess calling to complain did the trick."
"Bullshit," Brenda said. "We've been complaining for a year and all they did was send us Neighborhood Watch stickers for our windows."
"Maybe they got a grant or something," I said, smiling at Sean. The top two buttons on his shirt were undone, and I could see dark, curly hair on his chest. Mmmm... I like that.
"Sure as hell wasn't from the Feds," Sean said, shaking his head.
"What do you mean?" I asked, my antennae going up. Alice and George are Republicans. I could overlook it because they were nice, but we'd learned to stay away from politics.
"Not with that fairy Sinclair in the White House. You don't get squat unless you're gay, or on the endangered species list, or both," Sean said, grinning. All thoughts of fucking him disappeared. Crap! Why couldn't he have kept his mouth shut?
Alice cringed, and put a hand on Sean's leg. "Oops. Jessie's our neighborhood liberal, Sean. She likes Grant Sinclair."
"And he's not gay," I said, temper rising. "His wife died, for Christ's sake."
A month after the junior senator from California became the President on a tide of hope for national reconciliation, his young wife was diagnosed with breast cancer. She died nine months later.
"That was a while ago, and he doesn't date. Unless you count hugging trees," Sean said, still trying to be funny.
"Yeah, well most of the country agrees with me. He's way better than that last loser. At least he has a brain."
Sean rolled his eyes. "Okay, calm down. I'm sorry." His gaze wandered back to my tits. The moron still thought he might get his hands on them.
"Hey, Jessie—why don't we go check on the hamburgers?" Alice said, standing and forcing a smile. "George is a terror when he grills."
"Sorry, Jessie. I should have warned you," she said as we moved away. She put a hand on my shoulder. "You have to admit he's cute though."
"If he'd kept his cute mouth shut, he might have gotten lucky tonight. I'm pretty horny," I said, grimacing. Instead it was going to be me, Binky and battery-powered toys again.
After dinner I told Alice I was tired and left. Sean turned his attention to Brenda Goldman, who was getting sloppy drunk and apparently didn't care if the guy was an idiot.
I changed out of my party clothes and took Binky for a walk. By the time I got home I worked up a good depression and decided that I needed another beer, or maybe six. I was the idiot. Why did I always have to screw things up by being so serious? Who cared if Sean was a Neanderthal—he had nice muscles and he was tall and dark and you didn't need to change his batteries.
I got my beer and sat down at the computer, blinking away hot tears. Even though I didn't feel like doing it, I started getting my teams ready for Sunday. The regimen of it would do me good, and take my mind off my aching libido.
The little chime announced an incoming message, from Dave.
Hi! I need wide receiver help. Should I pick up Curry or James?
I thought about ignoring it. I sucked down half my beer and typed.
They both stink. Take Gallagher.
Whoa. Bad day?
Not those kids again, at the store in your neighborhood?
No. Nothing like that. A guy thing.
Sorry. Want to talk about it?
I took a deep breath and wiped my face. I did want to talk, but typing was too impersonal. I decided to take a chance.
Not like this. Could I call you on the phone?
There was a long pause.
That would be difficult.
Please! It would be so nice to finally hear your voice, and you always make me feel better. Why is it difficult?
There was an even longer pause. I was afraid he was gone.
I'm sorry! Look, I'm not trying to push you. I don't care if you're married or whatever. I just need a friend tonight.
It's not that. It's complicated.
Okay. I understand. IM is good, too. No big deal. I was at a party at my neighbor's house and there was this guy there. But I got in an argument with him about politics. Stupid, huh?
You know what they say about politics and parties.
I know! The guy was such a moron though—one of those right-wing crazies.
Dave didn't reply right away, and I realized that I might have offended him. Maybe he was a right-wing crazy too. We'd never talked about politics.
The worst kind of crazy. So things went downhill after that?
Yeah. The guy was still interested, but I wasn't.
So what's the problem?
The problem is that I'm such a loser! I mess everything up. The guy was hot and it's not like I've got guys beating my door down.
Sounds like tonight was just part of the problem.
That was when I broke down and told him everything. I cried and typed and cried some more. I told him about Ned and all the problems, and about being so lonely it hurt. And about how depressed I got when I turned thirty, and how I was worried I'd be alone forever. I told him I was tired of spending all my time around other-people's seven-year old kids, and how good it felt to look sexy at the party. I even told him I was so horny I thought about bringing Sean home with me.
Dave was great about it. He asked questions and told me what he thought, and somehow made me feel like everything was okay. By the time we signed off we'd been talking almost two hours, and I realized that I still knew next to nothing about his life.
I went to bed and turned off all the lights, because in the dark I didn't need to know what Dave looked like. I imagined him whispering to me, soothing and gentle, as his hands stroked my body in all the right places.
I imagined his tongue probing my ear, my neck, and my nipples until they were hard and aching with need. And then he moved on, lower. His fingers traced little patterns on my tummy and on the insides of my thighs as I rubbed his back with my heels. His breath was hot and rapid on my pussy until I grabbed his head and pressed his face against me. I felt his desire feeding mine as he licked and sucked...
I came really hard, and I must have screamed because I scared Binky. He started barking and running around the end of the bed in the dark. As my breathing returned to normal, he calmed too, and returned to his spot at my feet. I held onto the fantasy, hugging myself and thinking about Dave until I fell asleep.
We traded instant messages almost every night after that. Sometimes only for a few minutes and sometimes he was on a palm pilot instead of his computer, so the messages were short. He had some kind of a management job—it seemed like he had people working for him. And he traveled a lot, often working at night.
It was turning colder, but I still ran before work. My neighborhood was fairly safe, especially with more cops patrolling, and at six in the morning the streets were usually deserted. Running helped give me the energy to get through the day, and it was a good time to think and plan.
That Tuesday morning there was a lot of fog but, by the time I sucked down a cup of coffee and pulled on my sweats, it seemed to be clearing. The first mile was always tough, until muscles loosened and I got into a zone. I cut through campus at Johns Hopkins and took side streets to Druid Hill Park. The hilly, winding trails of the Park along Druid Lake, and past the zoo and conservatory, were my favorite place to run—challenging and beautiful.
That day the air was crisp and the fog clung to the little valleys and over the surface of the lake. I was looking at the lake when I saw him. He looked out of place—a man running in jeans and a bulky jacket.
He was cutting across the grass, heading toward the path I was on. I picked up my pace to get ahead of him. When he adjusted his course to meet me, I knew I was in trouble. He was big—well over six feet and broad, with the build of an athlete too long out of training. Long dark hair, ragged looking, and dirty—it clung to him, barely moving as he ran. Bursts of steamy breath obscured his face. His feet pounded hard on the dry, brown turf of the park.
Panic building, I started to sprint. The park was deserted at that time of the morning, and I was at least a quarter of a mile from a busy road. No one would hear me if I screamed, and the woods offered too much cover. If he caught me, he could drag me into the scrub and low trees.
I had pretty good endurance but had never been blessed with much raw speed. The man was gaining on me. I could hear his labored breathing, combined with low grunts of exertion as he pulled closer.
"Stop, bitch. Or I'll hurt you. Bad."
He was only ten feet away now, starting to reach for me. I thought about turning away from him, cutting and evading, but that would take me off the path, and deeper into the park.
My hair was tied in a loose, tangled ponytail, and my old, baggy sweatshirt was billowing behind me. His outreached fingertips were in my hair, and brushing my arm. He was going to catch me.
"I'm going to fuck you. You running cunt."
I glanced back and saw his face. Flushed, mouth open, eyes leering and glazed with the excitement of the hunt. My mind flashed to an image of an antelope about to be pulled down by a predator, and I knew the raw terror of that moment. I was prey, and this bastard meant to kill me.
His hand grabbed my shoulder, and spun me. I stopped, regained my balance and turned, running toward the lake. Maybe he wouldn't follow into the frigid water. Maybe he couldn't swim. My lungs were aching, the cold air burning. God, why couldn't I be faster!
He dived and caught me around the knees. I fell headlong. My face hit the ground, and my wind was knocked out.
His hands moved to the waistband of my sweatpants, trying to pull them down. I held them and squirmed, trying to get my breath. He grabbed a handful of my hair and stood, pulling me to my feet. His other hand squeezed my breast viciously, and I thought I would pass out from the pain.
His erection pressed against the small of my back. His face was against my cheek.
"I got me some sweet pussy here," he said, panting. "I'm going to fuck you good, bitch."
I hadn't seen a weapon, but he was too strong for me. He picked me up easily with the arm that was around my chest and started toward the woods. I tried to scream but couldn't get enough air into my lungs and there was blood in my mouth from when I hit the ground. My lips were numb and swollen.
My legs were free, though, and I kicked wildly, trying to trip him or catch a kneecap. He had to let go of my hair to get a better grip. I whipped my head back, connecting solidly with his mouth and nose. The bastard howled in pain and dropped me. I tumbled forward, but didn't go all the way down. My hands hit the packed dirt before I got my feet under me and started to run—away from the woods, away from the lake, back toward the path.
"You fucking cunt! I'll kill you for that!" He was only a few feet behind me. I didn't hurt him badly enough, and he was going to catch me again. I was still gasping for breath, and blood was spraying from my mouth.
"Fuck you!" I wheezed, whirling to face him. I wasn't going to let him pull me down from behind again.
There was a blur of movement from my right. Another man, running fast, hit my attacker like a linebacker blindsiding a receiver. They both went down, the new guy on top, driving a forearm into my attacker's neck.
I backed away, staggering. Then I turned and ran. I had to get away, as far and as fast as I could.
"Wait! It's okay," the new guy yelled. I glanced back. My rescuer was clean cut, with short dark hair, navy windbreaker and sweatpants. He had the attacker face down, a knee in his back. But I didn't trust anyone. I ran.
I didn't stop until I got home, until I was inside with the door bolted. Then I collapsed onto the floor in my entry hall, exhausted and aching everywhere. My mouth hurt the worst, but my hands were still stinging from when I fell the second time and one of my wrists throbbed. The back of my head was tender, and wet with blood from where I face-butted the bastard.
I didn't care about any of that. I was safe. I curled into a ball, hugging myself and rocking. Binky was whining, licking my hands, then my neck. I fell asleep.
The next thing I knew, the phone was ringing. I felt groggy, dazed. Trying to remember what happened. It had to be the school calling. I struggled to my feet and found the phone.
"Jessie! Is that you? Are you okay?"
"It's... Dave. You're hurt, Jessie. You have to see a doctor."
"Dave?" I shook my head, trying to clear it. It couldn't be Dave. "How did you know?"
"It doesn't matter. You have to open the door. There's a man outside and he's there to protect you. An ambulance is coming."
"Dave?" I felt dizzy. I heard a knock at the door, hard and insistent.
"Open the door, Jessie. It's okay."
So I did.
I woke up in bed. Crisp white sheets and the smell of disinfectant. Busy sounds of people working, and a voice on an intercom paging someone. My left arm felt funny and I lifted it and saw surgical tape and a clear IV tube trailing off the side of the bed. I was in a hospital.
I closed my eyes again and tried to concentrate. My head felt like it was floating, and I was a little nauseous. The park, and me running. The bad man, catching me. The good man, stopping him. I opened my eyes again, and looked at the room.
Mid-day sun shone through a large window. There was a bouquet of spring flowers next to the bed—chrysanthemums and daffodils. There was a man sitting on the other side of the room, near the door. He was wearing a dark suit and he was watching me. He smiled when I looked at him. He was cute, with short, light brown hair and nice teeth.
"Dave?" I asked. My voice was weak and scratchy, my throat very dry. He walked over and offered me a glass, with a straw.
"Would you like some water?" he asked. I nodded, then drank. It was cold and wonderful. When I finished he returned the glass to the table.
"I'm Ron, Ms. Parker. How are you feeling?"
"I don't know a Dave. Not here anyway. Is he a friend?"
I nodded. I must have imagined the phone call—it couldn't have been Dave. He was in California, and it made no sense for him to call. He didn't even know my number. How could he know there was a man at my door?
"Are you the police?" I asked. He had that look, with a tiny badge on the lapel of his jacket and a thin cord trailing from his left ear.
"No, Ma'am. Just here to look after you," Ron said. He touched the ear that had the phone thingy in it.
"She's awake. Seems fine," he said, then paused, listening. "Yes, he said a couple more hours." Another pause. "I understand."
I took stock of myself as he talked. I raised my right hand and saw the soft cast on the wrist. I touched my forehead and felt bandages.
"How am I?" I asked.
"Pretty good, under the circumstances. Mild concussion, wrist sprain, some cuts and bruises. You'll live," Ron replied, smiling kindly.
A nurse brought me lunch and I devoured it. Hospital food never tasted so good. A doctor visited to check on me and ask some questions, and then a nurse removed the IV. She led me into the bathroom so I could pee, then then helped me get dressed. The underwear, and a blouse and slacks were mine, but didn't match. Someone brought them from my house.
I sat in a chair by the bed, my head hurting a little. Ron came back.
"Do you feel up to talking to the police?" he asked. I nodded.
A detective came, and asked me about the attack. I told him everything I remembered.
"Did you... catch him?" I asked. He smiled.
"Oh, yeah. This guy's buddy had the creep whimpering like a baby when we got there," he said, nodding toward Ron.
"He tackled him, like a football player," I said. Ron smiled.
"East Tennessee State, actually. But that was a while ago. I'll tell him you were impressed." The smile faded. "Ben felt bad that he didn't get to you before the guy caught you."
"But why was he there at all?" I asked.
"Just lucky," Ron said, then looked at the detective. "Finished?"
I stayed home from school for two more days, because the doctor said I should. My wrist was still a little sore, but I didn't need the cast and I felt pretty good. By Friday I was stir crazy.
I sent a bunch of messages to Dave, but he didn't respond. I wasn't sure if I imagined him on the phone the day I got attacked, but something was wrong. Even when he was out of town he usually replied right away.
It was nice to be back at school. The kids all missed me, which made me feel good. And the day was exciting—we had an assembly in the multi-purpose room. There was this huge earthquake in India with thousands of people killed and way more homeless.
President Sinclair was calling for a massive relief effort, and wanted private help too. Our principal asked each class to come up with a fundraising idea, and we were going get the name of an Indian kid to write to so the class could learn about life there and the effects of the earthquake.
The five second grade classes decided to work together to try to collect a million pennies. That's ten thousand dollars, which is a lot, but the teachers thought it would be educational for the kids to see what a million of something looks like, and that there were lots of "related learning opportunities." We would see how much they weighed, find out how they make pennies, how long they last, things like that. Everyone was supposed to rummage around at home over the weekend as a way to get started.
The next morning I was busy going through my change jars and junk drawers. It's amazing how many pennies you find when you're looking, and I was starting to think that getting a million might be possible.
The doorbell rang and I figured it was Alice from next door, checking up on me again. I wanted to get her started looking for pennies too.
I opened the door.
"I'm fine, Alice. Hey..."
It wasn't Alice. It was Ron, the guy from the hospital, and he had two other guys with him. All were wearing suits. This was bad, because I was wearing a ratty old T-shirt and my nastiest pair of sweatpants.
"Ron!" I said. "Hi."
"Good to see you again, Ms. Parker," he said, then nodded toward the guy to his left. "You remember Ben, from the park?"
"Jesus! You're the tackling guy!" I said, my voice breaking. I jumped on him and hugged him hard. This surprised him, but I didn't care. I'd been trying not to think about the park, but all of a sudden the fear and relief and emotions of it hit me and I started to cry.
"Thank you," I whispered, still hugging Ben. "You saved my life."
After a moment, he peeled me off him and stepped back. He looked embarrassed.
"Glad I could help, Ma'am."
"So, did you guys come to check up on me?" I asked, wiping my eyes. I was a mess. No makeup and I didn't do anything with my hair after I got up.
"Actually, we need to take a look around your home," Ron said.
He shrugged. "To make sure it's safe."
After everything these guys had done for me, it seemed reasonable. I stepped back into the house. "Come in," I said. Before following, Ron motioned to the third guy, who started walking around my house, checking the bushes. Ron and Ben came inside.
"Sorry for the intrusion, Ma'am," Ron said. "This will just take a minute."
"No problem," I said, smoothing my hair with a hand and thinking about straightening up the living room. And the kitchen, which was a disaster zone.
"Can I get you a cup of coffee, or... something?" I asked, trying to remember what I had. Water, beer and orange juice, probably.
"No, Ma'am," Ron said. "We're fine." He motioned for Ben to check the upstairs, while he started methodically searching the downstairs, talking into the cuff of his jacket the whole time.
I stood there, hands in the pockets of the sweatpants, wishing I was wearing a bra. The T-shirt was kind of thin. I felt like I was in my pajamas, and then it occurred to me that I was—I'd slept in the outfit.
In a couple of minutes, both men were back in my entrance hall.
"We're clear," Ron said, into his cuff.
"Who are you guys?" I asked, getting more confused by the moment.
Ron and Ben ignored me, moving out the front door and taking up positions on my porch. I got to the door in time to see the black Suburbans pull up. One parked in my driveway and the other two blocked the street. More guys than I could count, all dressed like Ron, jumped out and scattered.
I wasn't paying attention to that. Ron walked to the Suburban in the driveway and opened a back door. The man who got out was wearing a tan windbreaker and sunglasses, and a baseball cap, but I recognized him right away as he walked toward me. It was Grant Sinclair. The President of the United States. All of them.
I froze. I stood there gaping as he walked into my house, spoke to Ron and then looked at me like he expected me to say something. Finally he spoke.
"Nice house," he said, looking around.
"Not as nice as yours," I said. I don't know where the comment came from, it just blurted out of my mouth. He smiled.
"That's a good one."
I tried to smile back, but my face wasn't cooperating. It was like I was having these spasms that threatened to let drool seep onto my chin. He kept looking around until his eyes settled on the bowl of pennies, and an assortment of drawers and containers in the middle of the room.
"It's for your earthquake," I said, swallowing. "I mean for my class. I'm a teacher. And we're collecting them. Pennies. We're collecting pennies."
He frowned. I knew I sounded like the village idiot.
"You know Jessie, one of the best and worst things about this job is the effect it has on other people. Not me, the job," he said, then paused. "When you want to intimidate someone it works like a charm. Heads of state, captains of industry, whatever. But when you want someone to be themselves, to relax and just treat you like a person, well, that can be a problem too."
I took a deep breath. "Which is this?"
"The latter, definitely." He looked straight into my eyes, and smiled. I felt like my knees were going to buckle.
"Can we sit down?" I asked.
"I'd love to."
We walked to the upholstered chairs I had by my front window. Ron moved to the door and whispered into his sleeve. I saw men fan out on the front lawn, and three or four formed a wall on the porch, a respectful distance from the window.
I sat, and took another deep breath.
"These guys go everywhere with you?"
"Pretty much. You get used to it."
"Except when they're guarding me?"
The question seemed to embarrass him. "It seemed wise. You told me about your running, and it worried me."
"Thanks," I said. Another deep breath. "So. You're Dave."
"Why Dave Camp?" I asked. He smiled.
"You're a teacher, think about it. Like you're calling the roll."
"Camp, David. Oh, Jesus."
"It's where I have the most time for the fantasy sports."
"Why do you bother? Jeez."
"I need it, Jessie. It's a chance to be anonymous, and be like I was before all this," he said, then frowned. "Doesn't work, though."
"What do you mean?"
"You remember that guy, 'InYourFace' something or other, who was in our league?"
"The guy who dropped out, and forfeited his games?"
"Yeah. It turned out he was a registered sexual predator." He glanced toward Ron. "They run background checks on everyone in my leagues."
"Do they... see your email?"
"It's their job. Like I said, you get used to it."
We sat there for a moment. I glanced out the front window, at some neighbors gathering across the street. When I looked back, I caught him checking out my chest. I remembered what I was wearing.
"Oh, Jesus. Look at me," I said, starting to stand. He put a hand on my arm.
"You're fine. You didn't know I was coming."
I sat back down, but crossed my arms over my chest. My nipples were kind of hard. Another deep breath.
"Okay. So if it's to be anonymous, why are you here?"
He looked down, at his hands. Then back at me.
"I thought about backing away. Just disappearing. I'd never really talked to anyone in my leagues before. Not like with you." He studied me. "But I decided that I didn't want to. Especially after what happened in the park."
Now I was really confused. "So... what?" You came over here to see if I was okay?"
"No. I came over here to see if you might want to... go out with me."
That was when I passed out for a minute. When I came to, Ron was taking my pulse and Dave was standing over me, looking worried. When my head cleared a little, I sat up.
"Did you ask me to date you?" I asked. He nodded.
"I know I'm not very good at this. I haven't done it in a while."
I looked at Ron. "Do you let him do that?"
Ron started laughing. He moved away, back to his position.
"I can't date you! Jesus, Dave..." I stopped. "Oh, hell. What am I supposed to call you?"
"Grant would be good. It's my name."
"Grant," I said, trying it out. "I guess that's okay."
We looked at each other for a while. God, he was so cute! His hair was still dark brown, except at the temples. His eyes were amazing—a deep blue, with flecks of gray. He was, what? Forty-four, but he looked younger up close. His skin was good, smooth and tanned.
The youngest president ever elected. He served one term in the Senate, after he made a bundle on a startup software company that went public.
Grant was wearing a pinstriped dress shirt under his windbreaker, open at the collar. I caught myself wondering if he had a hairy chest, and started to giggle. It was one of those nervous, can't-stop-laughing-in-church giggles.
"What?" he asked, looking flustered.
"You don't want to know, believe me," I said, still giggling. It was silly, there was no way it could work, with me this nervous around him. When I looked at him, I saw the guy on TV. You can vote for the guy on TV, admire him, but you can't date him. Deep breath time again. I stood up.
"Listen, Grant. There's only one way we can do this," I said.
"What do you mean?" he asked, standing. I took his hand.
"We gotta break the ice." I walked toward the stairs, pulling him. "Come on."
Halfway up the stairs I felt faint. I couldn't believe what I was doing, but there was no turning back. I paused, and looked back at Grant, meeting his eyes. He looked a little scared. Ron was following us.
"Can he wait downstairs?" I asked. Grant turned, and nodded to Ron.
I kept going. Up onto the landing and into the guest bedroom. It was cleaner than my room, and would seem less weird. I closed the door, and turned to face him. I felt faint again, my head buzzing. I stepped closer.
"Okay, you can kiss me now. If you want to," I said, closing my eyes. After a moment, I felt his lips on mine. Gentle and tentative. I moved a hand to the back of his neck, and pressed my tongue into his mouth. Our mouths fitted together perfectly, and he tasted like peppermint. I opened my eyes, and looking at him didn't feel quite so weird.
I nuzzled his neck. "Okay, now say something dirty."
I took his hand and pressed it against my right boob. "Whatever pops into your head," I whispered.
"You've got really nice breasts, Jessie," he said, the hand squeezing gently.
"Say 'tits, '" I said, taking his earlobe into my mouth.
"You're supposed to be talking dirty."
"Oh. You've got really nice tits, Jessie."
"That's better. Anything else?" I felt his other hand on my butt. I wasn't wearing any panties under the sweatpants.
He moaned softly. "And a really great ass. I'm kind of into that."
"All those hours on the Stairmaster are finally paying off," I said, and I kissed him again as he groped me. It was working, I hardly felt nervous at all anymore. Mainly I felt really horny, and wet.
As we kissed, I felt him growing hard against my hip. I let my hand slide down, and I squeezed him. Impressive—so much for the overachiever/small dick theory.
I pulled back, and looked at him. The longing in his eyes told me what I needed to know.
"I want you to know that I don't usually do this," I said. "If you were Dave, I'd be using the third-date rule."
He looked puzzled, then his face cleared. "Oh, I get it."
"But I need to get past the awe thing, and to be able to think of you as a guy that I like," I said. "Does that make sense?"
He nodded. "How are we doing?" His hand was still on my tit, fingers rolling my nipple through the thin cotton.
"Almost there," I said, then stepped back and pulled the shirt over my head. I stood, looking into his eyes. "One thing—would you mind if I call you Dave, just for this next bit?"
"No. I don't mind." His eyes roamed over me.
"Good. Get out of those clothes, Dave." I pulled the drawstring on my sweatpants and let them drop to the floor. I worked one foot free and kicked them away with the other.
I watched him undress, until he was in his boxers. I dropped to my knees, and pulled him closer.
"You have someone press your underwear?" I asked, reaching through the opening and grabbing his cock. "Nice perk."
He moaned as I worked him over, my fingers roaming from the head, to the shaft, then to his balls. Finally I withdrew my hand, and slid the boxers to his ankles. He stood uneasily, unsure where to put his hands. He was gorgeous—his body was hard and muscled, with just a hint of a gut, slim hips, and nice shoulders.
I ran a hand up the hair in the center of his abdomen, and over the light coating of dark curls on his chest. My nose was inches from his dick, and I could smell his arousal. A few drops of pre-come leaked out.
He decided to put his hands on the back of my neck. I didn't resist as he pulled me forward. My lips pressed against the engorged skin of his glans. My tongue explored the soft flesh, around the head and down the shaft.
I put my hands on his ass, then sucked the head of his cock into my mouth. I lashed the tip with my tongue, and rolled my head slowly from side to side. I gradually took more and more of him, until I gagged a little.
He sighed, deep and long, and leaned forward.
"Jessie. It's been a while for me, since before Becky died. I'm not sure how long I can last." He pulled my head up, looked into my eyes, and then glanced at the bed. I stood, took his hands, and led him.
I climbed onto the bed first, rolling onto my back. He followed, on his hands and knees until he was over me. He ran a hand up my thigh and over my belly before cupping my left boob. He lowered himself, then pulled my right nipple into his mouth, slowly running his tongue around the areola.
I gasped as he gently scraped my nipple with his teeth, tugging.
"Don't stop," I whispered. "That's good. Harder."
His hand abandoned my tit and stroked its way lower. I spread my legs, and rolled toward him a little, moaning as his fingers found my center. I was so wet, the lips of my pussy trembling as he explored. A fingertip found my clit as another sunk deep inside me. Panting, I pulled his head up and my nipple popped free, swollen and happy.
"Dave, honey. It's been a while for me, too. I'm ready."
He smiled, then eased himself on top of me. I cradled him with my hips, thinking how nice he felt there. Not too heavy, and his skin was warm and smooth against mine. His eyes were unbelievable—that odd deep blue that looked so great on the cover of Time magazine, and now they were filled with desire for me. I kissed him, deep and hard, as he eased forward and entered me.
"Jessie... Oh God, Jessie," he said, softly. He penetrated slowly, inch by glorious inch, filling me. He stayed there for a moment, pressing the head against the back of my pussy, rolling his hips. I slid my hands to his sides, and urged him.
He pulled back and thrust into me again. The first four or five strokes were slow and cautious. I rocked with him, our bodies pressed hard together, finding a rhythm as he moved faster, more urgently.
The old bed began to creak, the headboard tapping the wall as he worked into a fucking frenzy. Our bellies were slapping together, his cock made wet, sloppy noises as it pounded into me, and both of us were moaning, louder and louder. The sounds combined into a wonderful symphony of passion.
It was a little confusing, the first time with him. Who he was kept creeping into my head, and I would look at him kind of amazed as he fucked me. He had his eyes closed, so at least he didn't know. But his cock felt so good inside me, and my pussy was practically on fire, and I was so fucking horny. Finally I let go and just enjoyed it, loving the way his shoulders rose up a little each time he slammed into me, the way his chest hair tickled my nipples, and the breathless wonder of being filled with all that hot cock.
"Oh, yeah, baby!" I wailed, gripping his shoulders as I came. His rhythm faltered and he opened his eyes, ramming into me one last time before his dick exploded and I felt the warmth and wetness of his load pumping out, deep inside me.
We held each other for what seemed like a long time, locked together as his cock softened. I could feel our combined juices seeping out of my pussy, hot and thick, into the crack of my ass. It was wonderful.
Finally he rolled onto an elbow, next to me.
"Well, how did we do?" he asked. "You past the 'awe thing'?"
I nodded. "Way past. I don't know if you'll ever seem like a regular guy, but I'll settle for not being scared of you."
He kissed me gently.
"Good," he said, looking at me. "I was a little afraid of you, too."
I bit my lip, thinking. "You know, sometimes after you have sex, guys realize that was mainly what they wanted."
"What are you asking?"
"Well, you wanted to meet me but maybe you were just curious," I said. "That would be okay."
"Not a chance, Jessie," he said, glancing down at my body, and our intertwined legs. "I admit that I didn't expect this, but you were right, it's better now. And I'm not nearly finished with you."
"I'm glad," I said, then paused to think about what he said.
"So, what are your plans for this date?" I asked. "Dinner at the Olive Garden and then to the local Multiplex for a movie?"
We both started to laugh.
"That would be great. I wish we could. I miss things like that," he said, finally.
"What, then?" I asked.
"Well, my place is pretty nice. The food is good, and there's a pretty decent theatre. We can see anything you want."
"Your place? You mean... wow!" I said, thinking. "When?"
"How about tonight?"
There was a soft knock at the door, followed by Ron's voice.
"Mr. President. We have a situation."
His face clouded. "Sorry, I've got to go. Duty calls."
"It's okay," I said.
He jumped up and got dressed. He stopped at the door, and turned.
"I'll call you later, I promise," he said. "You're wonderful, Jessie. Thanks."
And then he left. By the time I got dressed and went downstairs they were gone, all the Secret Service and the Suburbans. There was still a crowd of neighbors though, clustered in Brenda Goldman's front yard across the street.
I looked around my front room. The piles of pennies were still on the floor, along with the rest of the clutter from what I'd been doing. I sat down, and picked up my cup of cold coffee. All of a sudden, the magnitude of what happened washed over me and I felt faint, and a bit nauseous. I couldn't think of anything else to do, so I went back to counting pennies. You know, it's amazing how many you find when you're looking.
Edited by Nat, Kieryn and Pammela