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Disclaimer: The characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots etc. and the fictional Centre, are all property of MTM, TNT and NBC Productions and used without permission. I'm not making any money out of this and no infringement is intended.
Note: You may be a “shipper,” but aren’t you dying to know why Jarod can’t get enough of Zoe? Much as I dislike the ditzy woman, there had to be something that brought him back to her AGAIN in Inner Sense (besides the crazy writers). Jarod may be a genius, but as it turns out, he’s still a guy...
Tales from the Red Notebook:
*Lucky Number Seven*
by Dominatrix
Perhaps what happened that night shouldn’t have. We’d only been together a short while - just three days. But it was long enough to get far too attached, and long enough to make me miss her now - her bright eyes, her contagious smile. Her sense of fun.
I’ve never had as much fun with anyone as I had with Zoe.
I guess I didn’t really know how to have fun with another person. I’ve enjoyed plenty of incredible experiences since I’ve been out - but driving a race car or sky diving or bungee jumping aren’t exactly thrills one can share. I’ve always kept my “thrills” private; I never had much choice.
But Zoe - she loved to share a good time. I guess that’s what attracted me to her from the first - besides that incredible kiss she gave me behind the pie display in the diner. When she said “Come on, Jarod,” and flashed me that grin, I would have followed her anywhere. Sure, the unpredictability was a little frightening, but that was half the fun, I found.
I feel badly that I never told her the truth about myself - never completely opened up. But on the other hand, I doubt she could have handled it. Her life was difficult enough, and when I found out just how difficult, it broke my heart - and bound her to me even more tightly. To think of such a beautiful person in so much pain, blaming herself, punishing herself for such a terrible tragedy... To think that she was ready to give up, to extinguish such a brightly shining light...
Perhaps what happened that night shouldn’t have. I’ve gone over it in my mind a thousand times. Despite my affectionate feelings, we have little in common and never will. I have no illusions that we were “meant to be.” But I think we both wanted the same thing that night, and there were no misunderstandings. I think we both have wonderful memories of our time together, however short.
We spent that entire day at the carnival. I’d never really been to a carnival before - I’d worked a brief stint as a carnie, like I told her - but that’s not really going to a carnival. She showed me just how to go to a carnival: sharing caramel apples and cotton candy and doughboys, riding all the rides together until we felt sick, standing in line with the young boys and their sweethearts and making them blue with jealousy (or is that green?) while I won every stuffed animal at every game on the midway. Holding hands in the funhouse and laughing when she fell down (but not too hard). Enjoying the way her body felt against me when centrifugal force took effect on the Thunderbolt, or while standing close together in the crowd, watching the tractor pull (I’m still trying to figure out just where the mystery lay in that little event). I couldn’t stay angry at her that day at the carnival; I managed to forget that she was bent on self-destruction and I was powerless to stop her. I wanted to forget, and she made it easy.
We finally left the fair after dark, piling into her convertible with all those ridiculous stuffed animals. They took up the entire back seat. At the Park Pines motel she pulled over and went inside to rent us a room.
“They gave us lucky number seven,” she teased when she returned, waving the keys in the air.
I knew what she wanted, I suppose. It had been obvious enough the night before, when she’d pulled me into the bedroom at her grandmother’s. When she went into that bathroom to change, with a wink and a purr, I quickly decided that whatever was going to happen next would be alright with me. But five minutes later, when she opened the door and posed for me in her silky bra and underpants, sex was the furthest thing from my mind. I’d discovered her tragic little secret.
She surprised me the next night - maybe I thought I wouldn’t get a second chance. I guess I didin’t think about it at all; I’d been so consumed with how to get her to change her mind about her illness, then enjoyed forgetting that heartache at the carnival.
That would sound strange to most men, wouldn’t it? Spending the day with a beautiful woman who couldn’t keep her hands off me, but not really thinking about sex? Up until recently, it’s been my personal policy to avoid thoughts about sexual intercourse - assuming it’s something that other people do. If I didn’t have that outlook, I’d have lost my mind 20 years ago. It’s a survival tactic, like many others I’ve acquired.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, as the case may be), that tactic tends to make me oblivious to women’s sexual advances much of the time. Sure, it’s great for concentration on the task at hand, but bad for normal human relations. It’s nearly gotten me into trouble a time or two. And it’s occasionally left me clueless (I like that word) as to what women really want from me, and when.
So when Zoe led me to the pool and began stripping her clothes off, she took me by surprise and I had a moment of panic.
“It’s magical, Jarod,” she whispered eagerly. “Don’t you want to go for a dip?”
“Zoe, no...” I protested.
“Jarod, YES,” she cajoled. “I paid for the room; the least you could do is swim with me.”
“But I don’t have a swimsuit...”
She gasped in mock surprise. “Neither do I!”
She wanted me to swim nude with her in the hotel pool. She wanted me to undress in a public place and break the rules, for which I could conceivably be arrested. Not that breaking the rules always matters to me - but breaking the rules naked is a different ball of wax, so to speak. Not to mention being naked in a public place - and suddenly confronted with Miss Parker and her entourage - has always been a recurring nightmare of mine.
I suppose there’s something else about nudity - my own - that bothers me. My body was the only private possession I had growing up; the only thing under my control. Of course, even that wasn’t always the case. Being naked - or potentially naked - in front of another person has always been associated in my mind with ultimate humiliation and loss of control.
So you can understand my hesitation at the edge of the pool.
I needed a couple of minutes to put things in perspective, to assess the situation, to convince myself that it was safe both physically and emotionally. And to try to determine what exactly she wanted from me, and what I was going to do about it. It was tough to make that assessment while watching her undress.
“Haven’t you ever been skinny-dipping, Jarod?” she teased, pulling off her boots and peeling off her little dress.
I gulped, and my head spun as she then dropped her bra and let her panties fall in a silky pool at her feet. “Is that what they call it?” I managed, unable to take my eyes from her lean body.
In a flash, she dove into the pool and swam away from me, grinning.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” I called.
“And you’re stalling. Now just what does a naked woman have to do to get you in here?”
She was right, I was stalling. And now I and my erection were standing there on the edge of the pool feeling foolish. A quick glance around revealed no one else watching, so I shoved my apprehension to the back of my mind and yanked my shirt over my head, kicking off my shoes. The moment she ducked her head underwater, I dropped my trousers and jumped in after her.
I swam up to her, but stopped a few feet away. I wanted to hold her, feel her warm skin against mine in the coolness of the water, but somehow I didn’t dare.
“That’s not so bad, is it?” she said.
“No, it’s pretty good,” I allowed.
My heart pounded inside my chest, my mind whirled, my stomach fluttered, and I was sure she knew how aroused I was. I know it sounds crazy, but I had no idea what to do. Despite my experience with Nia, my stints as an escort and a sex therapist, all the books I’ve read and movies I’ve seen and pretending I’ve done, I still feel inadequate at this dance. One can read books on Waltzing and watch all the instructional videos, but if you’ve never practiced but once, you’re still going to stumble on the dance floor.
I didn’t want to pretend with Zoe.
So I just hung there treading water, watching her and hoping she’d offer a clue as to my next move. She slowly circled me, smiling, drawing ever closer.
“Hi,” she breathed softly. Her face grew tender and I realized I must have looked frightened.
“Hi,” I replied.
*Stupid, Jarod,* I thought, berating myself.
Then, just like that, she swam to me and wrapped her arms around my neck. My heart jumped into my throat as I felt her breath on my face, then she kissed me. Oh, it felt good, and she tasted like cotton candy, and I kissed her back eagerly. She slid her tongue into my mouth, teasing me lavishly for a moment, then pulled back. Looking into my eyes, she gently wrapped her legs around my waist and pressed her body to mine, the water making her feel completely weightless as I supported her. The warmth of her thighs encircling me and the knowledge of what I knew lay between seemed almost too much. Too soon. Did she want me to take her now? Or was she just playing? Could I at least cradle her bottom in my hands? Or was that too intimate just now? I opened my mouth to swallow my pride, ask her what in the world she wanted, tell her I needed some help, but when my lips parted she covered my mouth again with hers. And my thoughts fled.
We kissed and kissed, barely breathing, and I lost all awareness of anything but her and I; if we hadn’t drifted into the shallow end, we might have drowned. The water barely cooled the heat from our bodies, radiating and building as we held and caressed each other. I couldn’t get enough of her warmth, her solidity, her sensuality - the way she held my face, nibbled my lip, rubbed the hard nipples of her pretty little breasts against my chest. At one point, I wondered who was moaning, then realized it was me. I think she liked it.
I was holding her firm ass tightly in my hands, exquisitely aware of her heat rubbing against my lower belly, when I felt the edge of the pool ladder bump against my back.
“Mmm, Jarod,” she said, breaking our kiss. “Should we do it right here? Right now?”
She let herself slide down my body until I could feel the tip of my penis pressing against her warm, welcoming vulva, and looked into my eyes, grinning. It was all I could do to remain still.
“Please,” I whispered, my legs beginning to tremble.
She sighed, then grimaced, touching my face. “This’ll be fun for about thirty seconds. Been there, done that.” Her smile returned. “Let’s go to the room.” With that, she sprang from my arms, jumped out of the pool, snatched her clothes off the pavement and dashed out of the gate.
When I finally made it to “lucky number seven” after nearly zipping myself into my trousers, she was in the bathroom. I could hear the shower running. I peeled my wet pants off again and stood there feeling increasingly irritated. She’d left me reeling in the pool - now she wanted me to wait while she took a shower? Was she toying with me, or was this some kind of female pre-sex ritual I hadn’t learned about? I wished I’d been paying more attention all along.
Then I heard the door creak open, and her voice call from the shower. “Are you coming, or what?”
Curious, I stepped through the door to stand in front of the shower.
“Come on in,” she said. “The water’s much warmer.”
I pulled back the curtain a little to reveal her lithe body, head back and eyes closed as she applied shampoo to her hair. I climbed into the tub behind her, letting the curtain fall, and reached up, mesmerized, to gently begin massaging the shampoo into her hair. She let her own hands fall, purring with pleasure as I rubbed her scalp, stroked my fingers over her temples.
She let her head drop forward, and a dollop of suds slid down onto one of her breasts. I coulnd’t resist... I cupped the sudsy breast in my palm and gently squeezed, feeling its slippery softness.
She moaned - why does that excite me so? - then grabbed a bar of soap and began to work it in her hands, spreading the bubbly lather on her chest and belly. I took the cue and helped her, rubbing the soap suds all over her skin, fondling and lathering her breasts and slipping my fingertips over her hard nipples. At the same time, I stepped up close behind her as the hot water pounded my back, letting my erection press between the cheeks of her bottom.
She pushed back hard against me and grabbed my left hand, holding it to her breast. My right hand she took and slid down lower, guiding my fingers to her sweet, warm place.
I began stroking her, working her clitoris in tight circles as I imagined she would like. Apparently, she did. Just seeing her pleasure at my touch, I wondered whether I could actually hold out until intercourse.
“Oh, Jarod,” Zoe moaned. “Everything you do is incredible. *This* feels incredible.”
“You can say that again,” I panted, kissing her neck.
She suddenly whirled in my arms and kissed me again, her hands on my ass, holding me tight against her.
“Somebody’s excited,” she murmured.
“Who wouldn’t be?” I replied. “You’re exciting.”
“You’re so sweet,” she said. “And so...mmm, so fine.” She pulled back, and I watched her eyes wander over my body as her hands trailed up my back, over my shoulders, down to my arms. She squeezed my biceps, smiling seductively at me. “C’mon, Jarod,” she said. “Flex.”
I tightened my arms, and she shook her head. “Come on. FLEX,” she repeated, and held her skinny arms up like Popeye the Sailor Man. It was truly funny, but I was feeling uptight again. She kept bringing me to the brink of sex, then backing off. Was she trying to drive me crazy? Was I doing something wrong? Missing some cue?
*Relax, Jarod,* I told myself. *Just play the game. You’ve got all night.*
I imitated her stance, and her face lit up in delight. “My God, you’re BUFF,” she said, running her hands appreciatively over my muscles. “Look at you! You’re ADONIS. OK, now the pecs...”
She made me pose and flex and turn for her while she fondled and lathered and admired me from head to toe until we were both weak from laughter. I must admit, though I felt rather objectified, it felt wonderful. I grew up complimented often on my intelligence, but never my body - no one has ever called me beautiful, buff, godlike before. I was surprised to find myself thoroughly enjoying the attention, and so eager to please the woman who lavished it on me.
But she wasn’t through pleasing *me.* As I dipped under the spray to rinse her shampoo from my hair, her voice deepened mysteriously. “Keep your eyes closed,” she murmured. “I’ve got a surprise.”
I don’t like surprises, but I stood still nonetheless and obeyed. Slowly, gently, I felt her hand cup my testicles, then her sweet breath cooling my hot erection. I took a deep breath and held it. Was she going to fellate me?
Sure enough, she kissed me, again and again, slowly, sensuously, opening her mouth and sliding her lips over the head of my penis. Then, in one swift move, she opened her throat and swallowed me completely. My groan seemed to come from somewhere near the base of my spine; the intensity of the sensation threatened to knock me off my feet.
My eyes flew open and I watched, stunned, as my cock emerged from her red mouth, then disappeared again, her tongue flicking along the underside of my shaft. She made pleasurable noises in her throat as if I was the best thing she’d ever tasted - sucking, then lapping, then sucking on me some more like a human popsicle.
Though I’d heard evidence to the contrary, I’d always assumed that most women didn’t really like fellatio. It seemed somehow degrading, submissive, something prostitutes and porn stars did - and they got paid. And I can understand now why men pay. On her knees before me, Zoe seemed to be relishing the job with gusto. Was she just doing it to please me? Did she feel she owed me?
“Zoe,” I gasped, placing my right hand on her head, and steadying myself against the wall with my left. This was going to take all my remaining strength. “You know... you don’t have to do this...”
She let my penis pop out of her mouth and looked up at me, puzzled. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No, everything’s great, but you don’t have to do this... if you don’t want to.”
“Now why wouldn’t I want to?” Then her face fell. “Oh, I get it. You’ve had better,” she said in a small voice.
“Oh, no,” I cried, pulling her to her feet. “That’s not it at all. I’ve never had better! I’ve never even *had* it before. I just thought...”
Now her mouth dropped open. “You’ve never had a blow job?” she asked, incredulous.
Oops.
“Blow job?” I said carefully.
Her eyes narrowed, and she studied me for a long moment. My erection began to wilt.
“What is it with you? Where are you from? You’re... you’re not some kind of a priest, are you?”
‘Not today,’ I almost said, then thought better of it. I smiled, shaking my head.
“Well what, then? Wait, don’t tell me - you were raised by monks in some remote monastery, and you just left to find your own way in the world. Sow a few wild oats.” She winked at me, smiling. “Am I right?”
I chuckled at the apt analogy. “How’d you guess?”
“I have a knack.”
“You certainly do,” I replied, shutting off the water and dragging her with me out of the tub.
Moments later we were tangled together in the cool, white sheets of the motel bed, skins still damp from the shower, hands eagerly exploring the landscapes of the other’s body in the semi-darkness. It felt so good, so natural to be so close to another person. To be so intimate. I was beginning to understand what all the hype was about.
I wanted to touch, to taste, to discover every secret part of her, to make her laugh and cry with delight, to truly know this delectable, mysterious woman-creature lying in my arms.
I wanted to fuck like wild monkeys, and that was a little disconcerting.
I pinned her to the mattress, taking my fill of her breasts, thoroughly exploring her wet warmth with my fingers until I knew just how to make her gasp and groan. Until I’d calculated just how far in I’d be able to thrust and at what angle to make her climax.
My first time, I’d gone in cold and been at the mercy of my own inexperience. I’d barely known what to expect. I sure hope Nia didn’t expect much. This time, I wanted to do things right.
“Jarod,” Zoe breathed into my hair, interrupting my mental exercise. “What’s your favorite position? How do you want to do me?”
“I don’t know... there are so many good ones,” I answered. As if I’d tried them all.
“Come on, baby,” she moaned, my fingers inside her, “tell me. Are you a top or bottom kind of guy? Or do you like it doggy style?”
“Well,” I said carefully, “that depends on who I’m with. We’ll just have to try them all to find our own favorites.” I looked up at her, hoping against hope, and she grinned.
“I like the way you think.”
I still can’t say which was my favorite. The missionary position is a classic for good reason - plenty of control. I liked the intimacy and sweetness of rocking her in my lap in the chair. I loved the way her perky little breasts took on a life of their own as she bounced astride me on the bed - climaxing twice while I watched. Up against the wall was strenuous but exciting in a rough sort of way. But I never really lost control until we tried it “doggy style.”
I had pulled out again to take a breather and apply the squeeze technique (something useful I picked up at the sex therapy clinic), and she rose to her knees in front of me on the bed. “Look at you,” she laughed. “Mister Cool. You haven’t even broken a sweat.” She ran her hands over my chest, tweaking my nipples, teased me with a kiss. “What does a woman have to do to wear you out?”
“I’m pacing myself,” I told her. “We’ve only tried six positions - I’d say we’ve got a long way to go yet.”
She smiled wickedly and gave me a naughty wink. “Then on to lucky number seven. C’mon big dog.” She spun around, on hands and knees before me, and presented me with her best asset.
“Oh, yeah,” I heard myself say.
“Come on, Tiger,” she purred. “Climb on.”
I don’t know what it is about rear entry that’s so exciting - it must be something deeply primeval. I grasped her hips and filled her vagina slowly, deliberately, trying to take my time and figure out the best way to stimulate her.
Soon, however, something else took over. Within seconds I was thrusting harder and faster, making noises that sounded like a wounded animal, only vaguely aware that she was touching herself, trying to stay up on her knees under my onslaught.
“Yes, Jarod, come on,” she was crying. “Oh God, you’re so big. It’s so good!”
I turned my head to see us reflected broadside in the dresser mirror - so incredibly erotic it made me gasp.
“Talk dirty to me,” Zoe begged. “Tell me how you want to fuck me like a wild stallion.”
“Oh Zoe,” I groaned, barely coherent, “I want to be a whole herd of wild stallions. I want... I want...” And I proceeded to completely surrender - telling her just what I wanted in language I’d never heard myself use, plunging into her depths over and over with wild abandon until I came in a wave of ecstasy so overwhelming it reduced me to a quivering heap.
Sprawled on the bed in a daze, I felt her arms around me, pulling me closer. “I knew you were a doggy style kind of guy,” she chuckled.
I smiled, rolling to hug her. I could hardly form a thought, much less a witty reply. Exhaustion had suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks, and my limbs felt like lead. I felt her tug the condom off, clean me gently, kiss my lips again. “Sorry, I’m falling asleep,” I managed to mutter. “Gimme a half-hour... I’ll be ready to go again.”
She laughed. “Listen, hero. I don’t want anybody waking me up until tomorrow noon. Got it?”
“Mmm. Got it,” I replied, and curled my body gratefully around hers.
Sleep was especially sweet that night. Oh, I had the usual dreams of Miss Parker - but this time she wasn’t chasing me. This time, *I* was behind *her*.
.........
Feedback please
Note: You may be a “shipper,” but aren’t you dying to know why Jarod can’t get enough of Zoe? Much as I dislike the ditzy woman, there had to be something that brought him back to her AGAIN in Inner Sense (besides the crazy writers). Jarod may be a genius, but as it turns out, he’s still a guy...
*Lucky Number Seven*
by Dominatrix
Perhaps what happened that night shouldn’t have. We’d only been together a short while - just three days. But it was long enough to get far too attached, and long enough to make me miss her now - her bright eyes, her contagious smile. Her sense of fun.
I’ve never had as much fun with anyone as I had with Zoe.
I guess I didn’t really know how to have fun with another person. I’ve enjoyed plenty of incredible experiences since I’ve been out - but driving a race car or sky diving or bungee jumping aren’t exactly thrills one can share. I’ve always kept my “thrills” private; I never had much choice.
But Zoe - she loved to share a good time. I guess that’s what attracted me to her from the first - besides that incredible kiss she gave me behind the pie display in the diner. When she said “Come on, Jarod,” and flashed me that grin, I would have followed her anywhere. Sure, the unpredictability was a little frightening, but that was half the fun, I found.
I feel badly that I never told her the truth about myself - never completely opened up. But on the other hand, I doubt she could have handled it. Her life was difficult enough, and when I found out just how difficult, it broke my heart - and bound her to me even more tightly. To think of such a beautiful person in so much pain, blaming herself, punishing herself for such a terrible tragedy... To think that she was ready to give up, to extinguish such a brightly shining light...
Perhaps what happened that night shouldn’t have. I’ve gone over it in my mind a thousand times. Despite my affectionate feelings, we have little in common and never will. I have no illusions that we were “meant to be.” But I think we both wanted the same thing that night, and there were no misunderstandings. I think we both have wonderful memories of our time together, however short.
We spent that entire day at the carnival. I’d never really been to a carnival before - I’d worked a brief stint as a carnie, like I told her - but that’s not really going to a carnival. She showed me just how to go to a carnival: sharing caramel apples and cotton candy and doughboys, riding all the rides together until we felt sick, standing in line with the young boys and their sweethearts and making them blue with jealousy (or is that green?) while I won every stuffed animal at every game on the midway. Holding hands in the funhouse and laughing when she fell down (but not too hard). Enjoying the way her body felt against me when centrifugal force took effect on the Thunderbolt, or while standing close together in the crowd, watching the tractor pull (I’m still trying to figure out just where the mystery lay in that little event). I couldn’t stay angry at her that day at the carnival; I managed to forget that she was bent on self-destruction and I was powerless to stop her. I wanted to forget, and she made it easy.
We finally left the fair after dark, piling into her convertible with all those ridiculous stuffed animals. They took up the entire back seat. At the Park Pines motel she pulled over and went inside to rent us a room.
“They gave us lucky number seven,” she teased when she returned, waving the keys in the air.
I knew what she wanted, I suppose. It had been obvious enough the night before, when she’d pulled me into the bedroom at her grandmother’s. When she went into that bathroom to change, with a wink and a purr, I quickly decided that whatever was going to happen next would be alright with me. But five minutes later, when she opened the door and posed for me in her silky bra and underpants, sex was the furthest thing from my mind. I’d discovered her tragic little secret.
She surprised me the next night - maybe I thought I wouldn’t get a second chance. I guess I didin’t think about it at all; I’d been so consumed with how to get her to change her mind about her illness, then enjoyed forgetting that heartache at the carnival.
That would sound strange to most men, wouldn’t it? Spending the day with a beautiful woman who couldn’t keep her hands off me, but not really thinking about sex? Up until recently, it’s been my personal policy to avoid thoughts about sexual intercourse - assuming it’s something that other people do. If I didn’t have that outlook, I’d have lost my mind 20 years ago. It’s a survival tactic, like many others I’ve acquired.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, as the case may be), that tactic tends to make me oblivious to women’s sexual advances much of the time. Sure, it’s great for concentration on the task at hand, but bad for normal human relations. It’s nearly gotten me into trouble a time or two. And it’s occasionally left me clueless (I like that word) as to what women really want from me, and when.
So when Zoe led me to the pool and began stripping her clothes off, she took me by surprise and I had a moment of panic.
“It’s magical, Jarod,” she whispered eagerly. “Don’t you want to go for a dip?”
“Zoe, no...” I protested.
“Jarod, YES,” she cajoled. “I paid for the room; the least you could do is swim with me.”
“But I don’t have a swimsuit...”
She gasped in mock surprise. “Neither do I!”
She wanted me to swim nude with her in the hotel pool. She wanted me to undress in a public place and break the rules, for which I could conceivably be arrested. Not that breaking the rules always matters to me - but breaking the rules naked is a different ball of wax, so to speak. Not to mention being naked in a public place - and suddenly confronted with Miss Parker and her entourage - has always been a recurring nightmare of mine.
I suppose there’s something else about nudity - my own - that bothers me. My body was the only private possession I had growing up; the only thing under my control. Of course, even that wasn’t always the case. Being naked - or potentially naked - in front of another person has always been associated in my mind with ultimate humiliation and loss of control.
So you can understand my hesitation at the edge of the pool.
I needed a couple of minutes to put things in perspective, to assess the situation, to convince myself that it was safe both physically and emotionally. And to try to determine what exactly she wanted from me, and what I was going to do about it. It was tough to make that assessment while watching her undress.
“Haven’t you ever been skinny-dipping, Jarod?” she teased, pulling off her boots and peeling off her little dress.
I gulped, and my head spun as she then dropped her bra and let her panties fall in a silky pool at her feet. “Is that what they call it?” I managed, unable to take my eyes from her lean body.
In a flash, she dove into the pool and swam away from me, grinning.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” I called.
“And you’re stalling. Now just what does a naked woman have to do to get you in here?”
She was right, I was stalling. And now I and my erection were standing there on the edge of the pool feeling foolish. A quick glance around revealed no one else watching, so I shoved my apprehension to the back of my mind and yanked my shirt over my head, kicking off my shoes. The moment she ducked her head underwater, I dropped my trousers and jumped in after her.
I swam up to her, but stopped a few feet away. I wanted to hold her, feel her warm skin against mine in the coolness of the water, but somehow I didn’t dare.
“That’s not so bad, is it?” she said.
“No, it’s pretty good,” I allowed.
My heart pounded inside my chest, my mind whirled, my stomach fluttered, and I was sure she knew how aroused I was. I know it sounds crazy, but I had no idea what to do. Despite my experience with Nia, my stints as an escort and a sex therapist, all the books I’ve read and movies I’ve seen and pretending I’ve done, I still feel inadequate at this dance. One can read books on Waltzing and watch all the instructional videos, but if you’ve never practiced but once, you’re still going to stumble on the dance floor.
I didn’t want to pretend with Zoe.
So I just hung there treading water, watching her and hoping she’d offer a clue as to my next move. She slowly circled me, smiling, drawing ever closer.
“Hi,” she breathed softly. Her face grew tender and I realized I must have looked frightened.
“Hi,” I replied.
*Stupid, Jarod,* I thought, berating myself.
Then, just like that, she swam to me and wrapped her arms around my neck. My heart jumped into my throat as I felt her breath on my face, then she kissed me. Oh, it felt good, and she tasted like cotton candy, and I kissed her back eagerly. She slid her tongue into my mouth, teasing me lavishly for a moment, then pulled back. Looking into my eyes, she gently wrapped her legs around my waist and pressed her body to mine, the water making her feel completely weightless as I supported her. The warmth of her thighs encircling me and the knowledge of what I knew lay between seemed almost too much. Too soon. Did she want me to take her now? Or was she just playing? Could I at least cradle her bottom in my hands? Or was that too intimate just now? I opened my mouth to swallow my pride, ask her what in the world she wanted, tell her I needed some help, but when my lips parted she covered my mouth again with hers. And my thoughts fled.
We kissed and kissed, barely breathing, and I lost all awareness of anything but her and I; if we hadn’t drifted into the shallow end, we might have drowned. The water barely cooled the heat from our bodies, radiating and building as we held and caressed each other. I couldn’t get enough of her warmth, her solidity, her sensuality - the way she held my face, nibbled my lip, rubbed the hard nipples of her pretty little breasts against my chest. At one point, I wondered who was moaning, then realized it was me. I think she liked it.
I was holding her firm ass tightly in my hands, exquisitely aware of her heat rubbing against my lower belly, when I felt the edge of the pool ladder bump against my back.
“Mmm, Jarod,” she said, breaking our kiss. “Should we do it right here? Right now?”
She let herself slide down my body until I could feel the tip of my penis pressing against her warm, welcoming vulva, and looked into my eyes, grinning. It was all I could do to remain still.
“Please,” I whispered, my legs beginning to tremble.
She sighed, then grimaced, touching my face. “This’ll be fun for about thirty seconds. Been there, done that.” Her smile returned. “Let’s go to the room.” With that, she sprang from my arms, jumped out of the pool, snatched her clothes off the pavement and dashed out of the gate.
When I finally made it to “lucky number seven” after nearly zipping myself into my trousers, she was in the bathroom. I could hear the shower running. I peeled my wet pants off again and stood there feeling increasingly irritated. She’d left me reeling in the pool - now she wanted me to wait while she took a shower? Was she toying with me, or was this some kind of female pre-sex ritual I hadn’t learned about? I wished I’d been paying more attention all along.
Then I heard the door creak open, and her voice call from the shower. “Are you coming, or what?”
Curious, I stepped through the door to stand in front of the shower.
“Come on in,” she said. “The water’s much warmer.”
I pulled back the curtain a little to reveal her lithe body, head back and eyes closed as she applied shampoo to her hair. I climbed into the tub behind her, letting the curtain fall, and reached up, mesmerized, to gently begin massaging the shampoo into her hair. She let her own hands fall, purring with pleasure as I rubbed her scalp, stroked my fingers over her temples.
She let her head drop forward, and a dollop of suds slid down onto one of her breasts. I coulnd’t resist... I cupped the sudsy breast in my palm and gently squeezed, feeling its slippery softness.
She moaned - why does that excite me so? - then grabbed a bar of soap and began to work it in her hands, spreading the bubbly lather on her chest and belly. I took the cue and helped her, rubbing the soap suds all over her skin, fondling and lathering her breasts and slipping my fingertips over her hard nipples. At the same time, I stepped up close behind her as the hot water pounded my back, letting my erection press between the cheeks of her bottom.
She pushed back hard against me and grabbed my left hand, holding it to her breast. My right hand she took and slid down lower, guiding my fingers to her sweet, warm place.
I began stroking her, working her clitoris in tight circles as I imagined she would like. Apparently, she did. Just seeing her pleasure at my touch, I wondered whether I could actually hold out until intercourse.
“Oh, Jarod,” Zoe moaned. “Everything you do is incredible. *This* feels incredible.”
“You can say that again,” I panted, kissing her neck.
She suddenly whirled in my arms and kissed me again, her hands on my ass, holding me tight against her.
“Somebody’s excited,” she murmured.
“Who wouldn’t be?” I replied. “You’re exciting.”
“You’re so sweet,” she said. “And so...mmm, so fine.” She pulled back, and I watched her eyes wander over my body as her hands trailed up my back, over my shoulders, down to my arms. She squeezed my biceps, smiling seductively at me. “C’mon, Jarod,” she said. “Flex.”
I tightened my arms, and she shook her head. “Come on. FLEX,” she repeated, and held her skinny arms up like Popeye the Sailor Man. It was truly funny, but I was feeling uptight again. She kept bringing me to the brink of sex, then backing off. Was she trying to drive me crazy? Was I doing something wrong? Missing some cue?
*Relax, Jarod,* I told myself. *Just play the game. You’ve got all night.*
I imitated her stance, and her face lit up in delight. “My God, you’re BUFF,” she said, running her hands appreciatively over my muscles. “Look at you! You’re ADONIS. OK, now the pecs...”
She made me pose and flex and turn for her while she fondled and lathered and admired me from head to toe until we were both weak from laughter. I must admit, though I felt rather objectified, it felt wonderful. I grew up complimented often on my intelligence, but never my body - no one has ever called me beautiful, buff, godlike before. I was surprised to find myself thoroughly enjoying the attention, and so eager to please the woman who lavished it on me.
But she wasn’t through pleasing *me.* As I dipped under the spray to rinse her shampoo from my hair, her voice deepened mysteriously. “Keep your eyes closed,” she murmured. “I’ve got a surprise.”
I don’t like surprises, but I stood still nonetheless and obeyed. Slowly, gently, I felt her hand cup my testicles, then her sweet breath cooling my hot erection. I took a deep breath and held it. Was she going to fellate me?
Sure enough, she kissed me, again and again, slowly, sensuously, opening her mouth and sliding her lips over the head of my penis. Then, in one swift move, she opened her throat and swallowed me completely. My groan seemed to come from somewhere near the base of my spine; the intensity of the sensation threatened to knock me off my feet.
My eyes flew open and I watched, stunned, as my cock emerged from her red mouth, then disappeared again, her tongue flicking along the underside of my shaft. She made pleasurable noises in her throat as if I was the best thing she’d ever tasted - sucking, then lapping, then sucking on me some more like a human popsicle.
Though I’d heard evidence to the contrary, I’d always assumed that most women didn’t really like fellatio. It seemed somehow degrading, submissive, something prostitutes and porn stars did - and they got paid. And I can understand now why men pay. On her knees before me, Zoe seemed to be relishing the job with gusto. Was she just doing it to please me? Did she feel she owed me?
“Zoe,” I gasped, placing my right hand on her head, and steadying myself against the wall with my left. This was going to take all my remaining strength. “You know... you don’t have to do this...”
She let my penis pop out of her mouth and looked up at me, puzzled. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No, everything’s great, but you don’t have to do this... if you don’t want to.”
“Now why wouldn’t I want to?” Then her face fell. “Oh, I get it. You’ve had better,” she said in a small voice.
“Oh, no,” I cried, pulling her to her feet. “That’s not it at all. I’ve never had better! I’ve never even *had* it before. I just thought...”
Now her mouth dropped open. “You’ve never had a blow job?” she asked, incredulous.
Oops.
“Blow job?” I said carefully.
Her eyes narrowed, and she studied me for a long moment. My erection began to wilt.
“What is it with you? Where are you from? You’re... you’re not some kind of a priest, are you?”
‘Not today,’ I almost said, then thought better of it. I smiled, shaking my head.
“Well what, then? Wait, don’t tell me - you were raised by monks in some remote monastery, and you just left to find your own way in the world. Sow a few wild oats.” She winked at me, smiling. “Am I right?”
I chuckled at the apt analogy. “How’d you guess?”
“I have a knack.”
“You certainly do,” I replied, shutting off the water and dragging her with me out of the tub.
Moments later we were tangled together in the cool, white sheets of the motel bed, skins still damp from the shower, hands eagerly exploring the landscapes of the other’s body in the semi-darkness. It felt so good, so natural to be so close to another person. To be so intimate. I was beginning to understand what all the hype was about.
I wanted to touch, to taste, to discover every secret part of her, to make her laugh and cry with delight, to truly know this delectable, mysterious woman-creature lying in my arms.
I wanted to fuck like wild monkeys, and that was a little disconcerting.
I pinned her to the mattress, taking my fill of her breasts, thoroughly exploring her wet warmth with my fingers until I knew just how to make her gasp and groan. Until I’d calculated just how far in I’d be able to thrust and at what angle to make her climax.
My first time, I’d gone in cold and been at the mercy of my own inexperience. I’d barely known what to expect. I sure hope Nia didn’t expect much. This time, I wanted to do things right.
“Jarod,” Zoe breathed into my hair, interrupting my mental exercise. “What’s your favorite position? How do you want to do me?”
“I don’t know... there are so many good ones,” I answered. As if I’d tried them all.
“Come on, baby,” she moaned, my fingers inside her, “tell me. Are you a top or bottom kind of guy? Or do you like it doggy style?”
“Well,” I said carefully, “that depends on who I’m with. We’ll just have to try them all to find our own favorites.” I looked up at her, hoping against hope, and she grinned.
“I like the way you think.”
I still can’t say which was my favorite. The missionary position is a classic for good reason - plenty of control. I liked the intimacy and sweetness of rocking her in my lap in the chair. I loved the way her perky little breasts took on a life of their own as she bounced astride me on the bed - climaxing twice while I watched. Up against the wall was strenuous but exciting in a rough sort of way. But I never really lost control until we tried it “doggy style.”
I had pulled out again to take a breather and apply the squeeze technique (something useful I picked up at the sex therapy clinic), and she rose to her knees in front of me on the bed. “Look at you,” she laughed. “Mister Cool. You haven’t even broken a sweat.” She ran her hands over my chest, tweaking my nipples, teased me with a kiss. “What does a woman have to do to wear you out?”
“I’m pacing myself,” I told her. “We’ve only tried six positions - I’d say we’ve got a long way to go yet.”
She smiled wickedly and gave me a naughty wink. “Then on to lucky number seven. C’mon big dog.” She spun around, on hands and knees before me, and presented me with her best asset.
“Oh, yeah,” I heard myself say.
“Come on, Tiger,” she purred. “Climb on.”
I don’t know what it is about rear entry that’s so exciting - it must be something deeply primeval. I grasped her hips and filled her vagina slowly, deliberately, trying to take my time and figure out the best way to stimulate her.
Soon, however, something else took over. Within seconds I was thrusting harder and faster, making noises that sounded like a wounded animal, only vaguely aware that she was touching herself, trying to stay up on her knees under my onslaught.
“Yes, Jarod, come on,” she was crying. “Oh God, you’re so big. It’s so good!”
I turned my head to see us reflected broadside in the dresser mirror - so incredibly erotic it made me gasp.
“Talk dirty to me,” Zoe begged. “Tell me how you want to fuck me like a wild stallion.”
“Oh Zoe,” I groaned, barely coherent, “I want to be a whole herd of wild stallions. I want... I want...” And I proceeded to completely surrender - telling her just what I wanted in language I’d never heard myself use, plunging into her depths over and over with wild abandon until I came in a wave of ecstasy so overwhelming it reduced me to a quivering heap.
Sprawled on the bed in a daze, I felt her arms around me, pulling me closer. “I knew you were a doggy style kind of guy,” she chuckled.
I smiled, rolling to hug her. I could hardly form a thought, much less a witty reply. Exhaustion had suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks, and my limbs felt like lead. I felt her tug the condom off, clean me gently, kiss my lips again. “Sorry, I’m falling asleep,” I managed to mutter. “Gimme a half-hour... I’ll be ready to go again.”
She laughed. “Listen, hero. I don’t want anybody waking me up until tomorrow noon. Got it?”
“Mmm. Got it,” I replied, and curled my body gratefully around hers.
Sleep was especially sweet that night. Oh, I had the usual dreams of Miss Parker - but this time she wasn’t chasing me. This time, *I* was behind *her*.
.........
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