As it seems to have become a habit of sorts, I was completely absorbed in my current project when I realized I had been working for 6 hours straight. I loved my job but this was too much, I silently thought to myself.
My silent thoughts were jolted shut by the sudden realization that it was 945 already and Trader Joe’s would close in 15 minutes. I had been here before – I made a split second decision on whether to make a run for it, or to look at other options, and sprang up to the bedroom to get dressed. I had been working in my comfy boxers and tank top all day. Of all that the HR types will tell you, the biggest proponent of working from home is being bra-less all day. I grabbed the first thing that I could wear the quickest and still call myself appropriately dressed – my gym clothes and sprang out of the apartment. The light worked in my favor and saved me a full minute, and before I knew it, I was making the daily thai-or-indian choice in the frozen meals section.
I picked quickly (Thai yesterday, so Indian today) and was pleased I wasn’t going to be the last one in line – I have this irrational don’t-look-at-me complex whenever I’m the last in line at a closing stand, or the last person holding up an occupied elevator. On my way, I grabbed the same bottle of wine I had picked last week and loved – sure, its no 3 buck Chuck, but it was delicious. I was in line, the sudden vacuum of stress in my mind giving me a minute to think pleasing thoughts – I was ahead of time on my project, and the latest design cruising along. I was going to be well-fed tonight, and looking forward to a relaxing sleep and a busy weekend. I was in the middle of this reverie, when I realized a pleasant man smiling at me. At first, I was surprised to see him smiling so obviously at me, but then I realized he was just reflecting the smile that I inadvertently had on my face. Slightly embarrassed, I smiled back at him.
He was one place ahead of me in line, and still waiting his turn. He looked around my age, 30ish, dressed in a smart office kind of dress that suggested he also worked in IT. What I noticed were his boots – old school, ankle highs, not too old school to be hipster (there are tons in my town), and not too fashionable to be, well, prim. Just right. And clean – everything about him looked so clean. Clean, polished shoes, clean taper-fit jeans, and a white office shirt that looked like it were ironed not 10 minutes ago. Clean shaven, short, neat haircut. If it weren’t for his functional appearance, I’d almost call him preppie. I feel like he was checking me out almost as long as I was, because he suddenly seemed aware of my full arms. In my haste, I had forgone the shopping basket and was clutching all the food and wine by the tips of my fingers. Instinctively, he picked up his single purchase from the checkout stand, and indicated for me to offload my weary arms, saying “Please!”. It happened so quickly, that I knew it was a genuinely nice gesture. I smiled broadly and said “oh, no, its fine, I didn’t go to the gym today, so this is my workout”. “Not bad, Costanza would be proud”, my inner voice complimented me.
“Are you sure?” he asked, again, his voice carrying genuine concern. “Definitely”, I smiled again. “All right”, he smiled, his eyebrows shrugging, as he placed his single purchase back on the checkstand. That when I noticed, it was the exact same bottle of wine that I had picked.
I don’t usually chit-chat at the grocery store, but I felt like our little exchange has made us more than strangers, or maybe I just found him cute so I was flirting – okay yeah, that’s really what it was. “I see you had the same idea”, I said, raising my bottle for him to look. His eyes followed mine and it took him a second before he got it. “Ha ha! Good choice, I think?”, he replied. “I pick up a bottle on my way home sometimes”, and then, realizing how that could come across, “in a completely non-alcoholic way, of course”, he added quickly. It was funny how I could almost see the wheels of thought grinding through his head as he corrected himself again “not that buying a bottle on the way home once in a while is being an alcoholic”, nodding at my still raised hand. It was hilarious and cute at the same time. A part of me wanted to just let him continue to dig himself that hole, while another part just found him so cute, I wanted to put him out of his self-inflicted misery.
“Its okay”, I laughed, choosing the latter.
He laughed too, more out of relief that he didn’t have to keep clarifying.
His cashier had already rung him up, and he quickly swiped and picked up his bottle, turned around at me, raised the bottle in an air cheers, and said “Good night, enjoy your wine”. I was already placing my items on the belt and a little distracted, and just managed a minimal “Thanks, you too”. By the time my cashier greeted me, I looked up and saw the sliding doors closing behind him. I felt a tinge of disappointment. I had just started to think of something funny to say to him but I realized it was I that probably appeared a little curt to him. Well, shucks, so much for wanting to flirt. I quickly paid and stepped out, and started to cut across the parking to get to the street quicker. This time, I saw him first – 10 steps dead ahead, walking to his car. It’s a good thing he looked up right then, because I wouldn’t have said anything to him myself. “Hi there!” he spoke out, almost a little too loud, like an excited kid not able to quite find his indoor voice.
“Hi again”, I smiled, this time a little coyly, knowing I’d enjoyed that quick repartee earlier.
Okay, he is cute, I’m just going to flirt a little. “So have you tried that wine before?”, he asked, this time a lot surer of himself than he sounded in the store. “Is it any good?”. “Yeah, I liked it, depends on your taste, I suppose”
“Is that dinner?”, he asked pointing his head at my bag. “Umm, yeah, just running behind on a couple of things so had to run out to get some”, I explained, and then realized quickly I was getting defensive. Shit, I’m a goddamned self made 30 year old woman who makes good coin, lives her life exactly as she wants, and I still get defensive at not making my own food. “Is that yours?”, I quipped, nodding at his bottle of wine, smirking, pleased at my own wit.
I don’t know when it happened, but I realized I was talking to him as if I’d bumped into an old acquaintance, instead of someone I just bumped into at the store. “Nah”, he smiled. “I ate after the gym, just a sub. Just gonna go home and kick back”. “Aww that’s a pity, its too good a wine to not share”, I surprised myself. God, am I really flirting that hard? No, I was just trying to be funny. But I didn’t mind – I saw myself as being flirty and was enjoying it. I could tell, so was he. He had this warm smile, like he was so comfortable with this dance we were dancing in the parking lot. His body language was so relaxed – he was now leaning on his car, with the elbow of the arm that held his bottle, either a relaxed prey, or a confident predator, I couldn’t tell which. I had let my eyes wander. I darted quick looks at his hands, clean muscular lines. Not fat stubby fingers, but long, slim. His shoulders, not muscle bound, but decently broad, strong. Look quickly while he’s looking elsewhere, I thought, only to catch myself. “So what if he notices? I’m a woman of this century, I’ve been more than comfortable asking for what I want before”.
“Oh I’d love to share, if you’re game”, he said, not able to hold back his enthusiasm. Game. There’s that word. Isn’t this a game? Sparring. Volleying. Back, and forth. You’re ahead, then you back off. You take, and then you give. “Oh I’m game”, I answered challengingly, “I just don’t know if I should”, I caught myself braking. “I still have some work to get done and .. “ I trailed off, giving him the hint to reel me back if he really wanted. “Oh come on, the day is for working, the night’s when we play”, he smiled, conspiratively. “What are you, a farmer?” I laughed. “Sorry, in my mind that sounded real smooth. But then I heard it out loud and I was like whoa there Ol Mac Donald”. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud – not my usual flirty laugh-at-it-even-if-its-not-that-funny laugh, but a genuine, hearty laugh. He was cute – genuinely so. Not in a pick-upy way where everything was calculated to maximize payoff of a pick-up, but just easy to get along, nice guy kind of a way. My mind was doing quick calculations now. Always a sign I was about to do something risky. He was cute, seemed to have a job, a car, lived in my high-rent town. I know pretty shallow so far, huh? He seemed sane, not desperate, the conversation seemed pretty organic. And he was cute. Nice teeth, clean shaven, nice hands. My checklist.
What’s the most that will happen, I asked my inner devil’s advocate. He’ll come over, we’ll have a couple glasses of wine, we’ll flirt a little, maybe he’ll kiss me on his way out. Right?
Would I sleep with him? Just as I thought that thought in my mind, I had painted a picture in my mind. A glimpse of his bare back, clean muscles splitting his back down the middle, more muscular than I had initially sized him up to be. Firm buttocks. Back arching backward, away from me as he strained to maximize himself inside me. My hands on his lower back, pushing him in, even as I winced in sweet pain. My eyes closed and my lips in a satisfied smile. I drew a sharp breath, horrified for a second almost as if he could look into my mind. My dirty, lusty mind. My inner slut had taken over. I was fantasizing dirty, dirty things that this stranger was doing to me – things that I hadn’t actually even done, before, even with someone I knew. And I was loving it.
Fuck it, I’m doing this, tonight. I knew then what my end game was. I wanted this guy. Tonight. And I felt damn right about it.
“Seriously though, you should come over, hang out. I’m right up there, on 8th and Main. I can drop you back”, he repeated, this time a little more serious.
“Actually, why don’t you come over – I’m right there in the Heights”, I said, pointing to my apartment block, just across the crossing. …
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/2hb6qy/my_first_attempt_at_writing_anything_ever_should
Thanks for the upvotes, but I request you to provide feedback as well. Is it too wordy? Slow paced? Comments about the character? Thanks!
It’s quite good. You have a knack for storytelling, and I wouldn’t mind reading a follow-up. However. You make some errors in editing that break the flow of the text quite heavily – like the over- and misuse of the hyphen – and you should spend a bit more time proofreading. There’s a nice flow to the text, but you may want to elaborate on environment and perhaps even appearance of the main character. Don’t just give a "I am a brunette bla bla bla" speech, obviously, but mentioning colours and fabrics of clothing or the colour or manageability of stray hairs goes a long way to endearing and familiarising us with the main character. That’s all I have for now. :)