A Beautiful Mess - Cover

A Beautiful Mess

Copyright© 2009 by Ken Randall

Chapter 41: Lost

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 41: Lost - Anthony Mitchell meets and falls in love with Charlotte Lawsen. They decide to make a sex movie together, with the help of a few friends. But just how open is Anthony willing to be with the girl who's popularly known as the Queen of Sluts? Unfortunately, the movie is stolen and released to the world. Can love survive being turned upside down by reporters, religious groups, and adoring teenage fans? (This is the tamer, shorter version. For the longer, raunchier version, see "Charlotte's Movie".)

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft   Romantic   Reluctant   Tear Jerker   Cheating   Spanking   First   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Petting   Squirting   Size  

"It's a 1995 Dodge Dakota Sport, 4 x 4."

"How many miles on it?"

"Around 80. Seventy-nine-five, maybe. It runs fine."

"Why you selling?"

"I got a new car, for my birthday. My dad gave me this truck before he left. It was parked for like five years before I could even drive it, so it's in new condition still."

"Alright. We'll see. Bring it by. I'll kick the tires, take it for a spin, and if it doesn't fall apart on me, I'll give you $2500. Cash. How's that sound?"

It was probably a rip off. The thing was only seven years old, and hardly driven, but I didn't care. I had the Mustang now.

"Sure. I'll bring it by. Where you located again?"

He gave me his address and I scribbled it down.

"I can be there in twenty minutes."

"Alright. I'll watch for you. We're closed already, but just honk the horn by the gate."

"Alright. What's your name, by the way?"

"Don. Donald. Donny. Big D. What's your name, kid?"

"Anthony Mitchell."

"Alright. See you in 20 minutes, Anthony. Don't be late. My wife's got supper on the table already."

"Thanks, Don."

I closed the yellow pages and hung up the phone. Suddenly I was excited for the first time in days. I almost felt like giggling. But it was nervous giddiness, the kind of nervousness where you just wanna rush everything through and get it done before you change your mind. Next I called Mick.

"Can you get your mom's car, man? I need a ride somewhere."

"What happened to your truck?"

"I'm selling it. That's why I need a ride. I got the Mustang now, so I don't need it anymore. I got a guy who's gonna buy it for $2500."

"Awesome. Nice chunk of change for that old bucket."

"It's probably worth more, but I don't care. I just need some quick cash."

"Planning on fleeing town, are ya?"

"No. Not just yet. I have other plans."

He covered the phone and said something to his mom.

"Well I can get the car. Am I just picking you up at this guy's place?"

"Yup."

I gave him the address and he met me down there. The guy took it for a spin and was genuinely impressed with it. He even gave me $3000 instead of $2500. I was surprised. I was expecting him to try and shaft me. Maybe $3000 was still less than what the thing was actually worth, but it was $500 more than his first offer. I took it, grinning, and signed it over to him.

"Where to now, champ?"

"Let's head over to the mall."

So we went to the mall with my $3000. I felt like a big shot strutting around with 30 hundred dollar bills in my pocket, but I had plans for the money. I had a future to worry about.

I bought Mick a $190 jacket though, just to be a pal, just to say thanks for everything. He actually got all choked up when he tried it on. He'd been wanting it for months, but never had any money to get it. He looked awesome in it too. It was a 3/4 length black leather jacket. The front of it almost looked tuxedo style. Very cool.

I hit a few more stores with my $2810 and got a few more things I needed. By the time we left I had only $1100 left. I was harassed of course by people who wanted to know where a kid like me got so much money from, but I told them I'd just sold my truck to a used car guy. The cash was real enough, not monopoly money or anything, so they took it.

"You probably shoulda talked to your parents about this, kid."

"What am I, ten years old? I can do what I want with my property, can't I?"

The guy shook his head. He was just happy to make a sale.

Mick bugged me about it as well, on the way to his car.

"You sure about this, Mitchell?"

"The jacket looks awesome on you! Quit trying to talk me out of it."

"I wasn't talking about the jacket, stupid. You know that."

"Well, you're not gonna talk me out of that either, so just drive."

"Okay, I'm just saying."

We got into the car. But he stopped and looked at me like I was insane again before starting up the car.

"You've been under a lot of stress lately, Mitchell. I just wanna make sure you're sure, know what I mean?"

"Listen, man, for the past few days my life's spinning out of control, and I'm tryna just hang on and try not to go flying off. I just wanted to finally take charge of something. Make a decision. Take action. Steer my own course. I just wanted to do something. I hate feeling like I'm up the creek without a paddle."

"That's a pretty expensive paddle."

"Yes, it is."

"I guess I'm dropping you off at Charlotte's?"

"Yup. Thanks, man."

"No. Thank you! I'm honestly blown away by this. I don't know how I'm ever gonna thank you."

He straightened his sleeve cuffs again, and rolled his shoulders around in the jacket.

"No thanks necessary. It's just stuff. The real treasure is being able to make a grown man almost cry like a little bitch. Heh."

"Hey! You shut up about that. I had something in my eye."

"Riiight..."

I wanted to give him a hug, but that's not exactly the manliest thing to do, so I just let the jacket hug him for me. He looked really damn comfortable in it. A moment later, he looked over and punched me in the arm. I guess that was his way of giving me a hug. I liked Sheila's way a lot better, but I appreciated the sentiment nevertheless.

When we got to Charlotte's all the lights were out. Apparently no one was home.

"You sure she was expecting you?"

"I called her from my house, around five, after I left Sheila's. I told her I had to run to the mall and I'd be here by around seven or so. What time is it now?"

"Around seven or so."

"Maybe she's sleeping or something."

"Well get in there and snuggle up with her. Do her once for me."

"I will. Thanks for the ride."

"Anytime."

I got out and headed up the walk. For some reason it felt like the longest walk of my life, though it only took thirty seconds to get from the street to their front door. Every step I took was filled with a hundred rapid-fire thoughts, doubts, worries, concerns. But most of all, I was just happy to have finally made a decision.

I was also happy to have sort of resolved things with Sheila. Things weren't perfect of course, but I at least felt better that she definitely wanted me to be with Charlotte. We'd hugged like that for a good ten minutes or so, as songs rolled by. Then she kissed me and told me to get going, saying she was finally gonna eat something. That made me feel a lot better.

I let Vanessa know that she was alright, but to keep an eye on her. I told her to call me if anything came up. I hugged her too. She looked very tired herself.

Then I sorta went into this daydream. I don't even know how I got home from there. I was just blanked out in my stream of thoughts. When I snapped out of it, I was sitting on my bed at home, staring at a poster on my closet door.

I blinked, looking around. All was quiet.

A few moments later, I was flipping through the phonebook, looking up auto dealerships.

And now I was walking up Charlotte's walk with what was left of my dad's old truck in my pocket. I got to the front door and rang the bell. There was no answer. Charlotte was expecting me, so I let myself in.

The first thing I noticed was the smell of food, delicious food. I realized immediately that I hadn't eaten since those French fries at lunch, and I'd barely eaten them. I was hungry, damn hungry. And whatever was cooking smelled incredible.

The second thing I noticed was soft music playing, quiet saxophone and piano music, the kind that was on when I'd first walked in on Charlotte asleep in her bedroom two weeks before, when I wrote her the petal poem. It was beautiful.

Charlotte and Stephanie were nowhere to be seen. The clock in the kitchen said it was four minutes to seven. I was right on time. I saw no food in the kitchen. But the smell was everywhere. So I followed the sound of the music back into the dining area where I saw candles. There were candles lit over a set table that looked like a banquet for royalty—silver platters, crystal champagne glasses, gold-plated utensils, gilded china, red velvet table cloth. And leaning up against the plate at the head of the table was an envelope with my name on it. I walked over and picked it up. It was a card with a cherub on the front, pointing an arrow off into a sunny-looking flower garden. Cupid, I guess, but mostly it just reminded me of a little baby. I think it was meant to.

To the king of my heart, my dearest Anthony,

Words cannot express how deeply I feel for you for all you've done for me. I tried all day to think of some way to tell you how much you mean to me, and finally I just decided it was a lost cause. Words will never be enough. So I decided to show you what you mean to me instead. The lifetime of pampering and seeing to your every pleasure begins now.

Sit. Enjoy the food. Mom and I prepared it ourselves. I'll be down in a few minutes, my love, my life, master of all that I am.

Yours forever,

Charlotte

Wow. I stood there re-reading the thing a couple of times and finally put it down. I sat in the seat at the head of the table and lifted the cover from a platter in front of me: steak, medium rare, exactly the way I'd ordered it when we'd gone out for dinner. She'd remembered. Next to that, vegetables, baked potatoes, salad, gravies and sauces in little silver boats that looked kinda like Aladdin's lamp. There was wine too. Real wine, and it looked absolutely top quality. I really had no idea what quality wine was (I wasn't even sure if it was wine, the label was all in French) but even the bottle looked expensive.

I just sat there, burning with hunger, but dazed by the spread, staring into the flickering candle. Then I looked up and saw Charlotte standing at the top of the stairs, over by the railing where we'd hung the WELCOME HOME AMY banner. She looked absolutely angelic. I'm not even sure what it was she was wearing, to be honest with you. It was an evening gown, I know that much. It was white, satiny, and shimmering with sparkles that danced in the light, like the fabric itself was alive. It was sleeveless and came all the way up to her neck, with a little heart shape cut out of the front to accentuate her cleavage. It hugged her curves, hinting at her form without being gratuitously tight. You could just barely make out the tone of her flesh beneath the fabric. It was subtly see-through, but not lewdly so. Her hair was done up also, gathered in swirls behind her head before falling down her back like a flowing river of gold. Her skin sparkled as well somehow.

She was standing up there staring down at me. I was completely gone in the head as soon as I saw her. She was, without the slightest exaggeration, astonishing to behold. We just stared at one another, and she blinked exactly seven times, before letting go of the railing and beginning her descent down the winding stairway. She approached, and as she did I felt the heat in me growing stronger. Then she was right beside me and I literally felt like I was standing in the hot sunshine of a summer day. The heat was inside me though. I think it was desperate hungry passion and awe, such as I'd never felt before. She stood behind the chair next to where I was sitting and just looked at me. Her fragrance was some sort of delicious essence of fruit, flowers, and female arousal that made me feel like a cave man and a god at the exact same time. I wanted to throw her down on the table and take her right then and there, but I also wanted to stand in awe, just staring. Her eyes were so damn beautiful, it almost made me cry.

She blinked four more times, and then she spoke.

"You're giving me that look again. I love you so much."

I didn't reply. I couldn't imagine what I could have possibly said to express how beautiful I thought she was. Beautiful was just a word. She could have made the most enchanting fairytale princesses ever look like toads right then.

Then she served me. She lifted the utensils with trembling hands and placed a steak, some potatoes, vegetables, and salad onto my plate. She put gravy on the potato, and butter, and a dash of salt. She put dressing on my salad. She filled my wine glass, and then hers. Then she served herself and sat down.

I was still dumbstruck, lost in awe, just staring at her, and she was blushing now. So she reached over and cut my steak for me. I looked down at her tender, girlish hands and watched them move in the golden candle light. She brought a piece to my mouth and fed me from her own hand. It was tender and juicy. It almost melted in my mouth. I ate, still staring at her, tasting the most delicious food I'd ever experienced. Then she brought the wine glass to my mouth and I sipped from it. It was sweet, strong, rich. All I can say is that wine tasted like she smelled—gorgeous.

She lifted a cloth napkin, and dabbed a dribble from my mouth. Then she fed me a bite of the potato.

Then I stopped her and just held her hands, just staring once again. She kept looking away from me, staring down at the table, over to the corner of the room, and then looking back again. Her eyes were glassy. Her lip trembled a bit.

"I don't deserve so much love."

The words came out of her in a whisper; she almost sighed them somehow. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed. A stray strand of hair curled down one side of her forehead, almost touching her eyebrow. Her skin looked delicate, soft, glowing. Her lips were full and shining wetly. They were sparkling too.

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