Insatiable Pt. 02

Laurie was still in a fog when she got dressed the next morning, sat down (with a wince over her aching derrière) for a cup of coffee and a doughnut, and trudged off to work. There, the first person she met—as always—was her friend, Tammy Crawford.

Tammy (full name Tamara) was a kind of sidekick to Laurie. They were almost exactly the same age, and they'd become friends at Tufts; Tammy had fallen under her sway pretty quickly. Laurie saw that this young woman—quite pretty in her blonde, doll-like way—was inherently a follower rather than a leader. On campus she trailed after Laurie like a lost puppy, and it was no surprise that she followed her friend into employment at the large non-profit that Laurie had set her eyes on. This may not have been Tammy's ideal choice for an occupation, but her presence near her dominant friend reconciled her to her lot.

At times Tammy's meekness and prototypically "feminine" ways irritated Laurie a bit, but no amount of hectoring could make Tammy assert herself, especially where men were concerned. With an unconscious and wide-eyed cunning she sensed that a great many men were attracted to women like her: her seeming helplessness brought out all the primal protectiveness that in some ways could be an endearing quality in certain men, but which Laurie found almost revolting. She wouldn't even let men hold doors open for her, whereas Tammy expected it as a matter of course.

So Tammy had had a lot more involvements with men over the past decade or so than Laurie had, but none had ended in wedding bells or even a long-term relationship. That weighed grievously upon her, and she naturally blamed her own deficiencies—physical, intellectual, or emotional—even though Laurie grudgingly admitted that her friend was pretty (almost beautiful), smart, and perfectly willing to play second fiddle to a man just as she did to Laurie herself.

When Laurie shuffled into her cubicle, Tammy—already ensconced in the cubicle next to hers—let out a gasp.

"Laurie!" she cried. "What happened to you? You look terrible."

"Thank you," Laurie said tartly, dumping herself into her desk chair.

Tammy followed her into the cubicle. Looking her up and down and taking note of her poorly combed hair and ill-fitting business suit, she said, "You never look like this. Did something—"

When Laurie uncharacteristically gazed up at her friend with a look that mingled bafflement and a sort of terror, Tammy immediately slid into a chair next to the desk and said, "You need to tell me what's going on."

But Laurie only sighed heavily. "It's hard to explain."

"Laurie, it's me!" Tammy cried, already finding her eyes filling with tears. "You can tell me."

"I don't know where to begin."

Then something Laurie had said on Friday came into Tammy's memory. "Weren't you going to meet some guy yesterday?"

When Laurie closed her eyes and looked away, Tammy knew she had found the root of the problem. She well knew her friend's troubles with men, and was constantly urging her not to be so high-and-mighty ("You gotta give the guys a chance, Laurie!") and so fixated on her own female pride. Bad things might happen...

"You met the guy, right?" Tammy said. Then, her voice dropping to a whisper: "Did—did he do something to you?"

Laurie looked over to her friend with a vicious expression. "Yeah, I'd say he did something to me."

And she launched into a detailed and unexpurgated account of exactly how Mr. Patrick Williamson had poked and prodded her on an otherwise lazy Sunday afternoon.

Tammy listened to the story with expanding eyes, at times covering her mouth with her hand in sympathetic horror. When Laurie had finished, she cried out:

"Jesus, Laurie, you got to report him to the police! I mean, he—he—"

"Don't say it," Laurie warned. "Don't say that word." The very thought that a man could have done—that—to her was enough to send her into convulsions. No man can treat me that way—and yet, somehow Patrick did.

"Anyway," she went on ruefully, "it may not have been quite like that. After all, he did—well, you know." He did make me come. But that was no get-out-of-jail-free card for some of the other things he'd done!

"Did you," Tammy said in an appalled whisper, "really let him go into your butt?"

"I didn't let him—he just did it!" Laurie bellowed.

"How awful!" Tammy cried, in an ecstasy of horror. "It must have hurt like the dickens."

"It didn't feel good, I'll tell you that much." Laurie paused, then eyed her friend keenly. "You're telling me you've never done it?"

"Of course not! I'd never, ever let a man do that to me!"

"Well, I felt the same way—until now." Another pause. "I have to say, though: there was something strangely intimate about the procedure. It certainly establishes a bond between two people."

Tammy was now clutching her stomach with her hands, as if someone had just delivered a swift kick to that area. "Ugh! I think you're sick."

"Look, I'm not saying I liked it—or liked anything he did. Jeez, I never felt so—so degraded in all my life. But..."

"But what?" Tammy said suspiciously.

"It has been a while," Laurie said sheepishly.

"Since what?"

"You know... since a man—put his thing in me—anywhere."

"Yeah, me too. But you surely didn't want it that way!"

"Look, Tammy, it wasn't all horrible. He—"

"Yes, yes, he made you come. Twice." Tammy said that with a sarcasm not at all typical of her.

"Well, he did. You wouldn't believe how many guys couldn't care less whether a woman gets off."

"Oh, you don't have to tell me. I've been with a fair number of such guys. And frankly, it doesn't take a lot to get me to come."

"Is that right?"

"Hey, we're not talking about me. I think—"

Just then Laurie's phone rang.

The two women both stared at the object as if it was a creature from outer space that had suddenly floated down onto Laurie's desk. It rang several times as they remained motionless.

"Aren't you going to get that?" Tammy said at last.

When Laurie said nothing, Tammy went on: "If that's him, you'd better tell him to go jump in the lake. You can't be around people like him."

Laurie finally picked up the phone. After her tentative "Hello?" her face went white, and she mouthed the words It's him to Tammy. She motioned frantically with her head for Tammy to leave them alone, and Tammy grudgingly shuffled away back to her own cubicle.

"How'd you get this number?" Laurie said sharply into the phone.

"You told me where you worked," Patrick said, "so it wasn't hard to find the number of your company on the Internet."

"What do you want?"

"Well, it seemed to me we parted somewhat abruptly. I wanted to make sure you knew how pleased I was to make your acquaintance."

Laurie was already seething. Slowly and precisely she repeated, "How pleased you were to make my acquaintance. Is that what you call it?"

"Laurie," Patrick said with sudden intensity, "you've affected me like no other woman I've ever met—ever."

"May I remind you, my dear man, you were married once?"

"You don't hold a candle to her."

"I'm supposed to take that as a compliment?"

"That's exactly how you should take it. You're one of the most remarkable women I've ever come into contact with."

"Come into contact is right!"

"Laurie, I wouldn't have done what I did if I hadn't been profoundly moved by you. I hope to get to know you a lot better over the coming weeks and months. I'd like to take you to dinner on Wednesday."

"Wednesday?" She spoke the word with unmistakable disappointment. You fuck me every which way on Sunday, but you don't want to see me until Wednesday?

"I have a lot of work to do between now and then. I'm sorry—that's the life of a freelance writer. Do you like Japanese food? I know a great place nearby."

"Yes," she muttered, unable to believe she was actually accepting another date so supinely.

"Great. I'll pick you up at six."

"Better make it seven."

"Fine. I'll be there."

Laurie carefully hung up the phone, as if merely touching it might give her a contagious disease. The moment she got off the phone, Tammy came back into her cubicle.

"You gave him his walking papers, I hope?" she cried, eyes blazing.

Laurie, seemingly such a strong and commanding personality, looked away from her.

Tammy's jaw dropped. "You—you didn't actually agree to see him again, did you?"

Laurie nodded lugubriously.

"Oh, Laurie, how could you? You have to avoid people like him—they're bad news! He'll just take advantage of you again."

"No, he won't," Laurie said with a sudden reassertion of determination. "Don't worry, I'll kick his butt. He's not going to get away with what he did to me."

The next two days passed with frustrating slowness, as Laurie was fired with eagerness to put the arrogant Patrick Williamson in his place. Several times she came close to cancelling the date, but then reversed herself: no way she was chickening out of a confrontation with this self-absorbed alpha male!

By Wednesday afternoon she was jumpy as a cat, but when she left work she gave her friend Tammy a knowing squint and headed on home. She undressed at leisure, since it was well before seven; and, in a fit of sardonic amusement, she put on a little black dress that made her look unbearably scrumptious: no man could possibly keep his hands off of her in this outfit!—certainly not the lustful Patrick.

Laurie smiled to herself in smug satisfaction when she saw his eyes widen as he caught sight of her coming out of her building, in answer to his cellphone call that he was in the parking lot. She stepped daintily into his car, and off they went.

After some innocuous idle chatter that, she felt, made Patrick feel as if nothing in the world was wrong, she turned to him, eyes blazing, and cried: "I'm really mad at you!"

She was inclined to add some choice profanities, but felt that maintaining a certain level of dignity would help her cause.

All Patrick did was to raise his eyebrows fractionally while maintaining a steady forward gaze. Good for him! She certainly didn't want him crashing the car while she chewed him out.

"Why is that?" he asked with annoying calmness.

"Why?" she shot back. "You have to ask why?" She was almost choking with rage. "After what you did to me?"

He smiled out of the corner of his mouth. "A lot of that was horseplay, and you started it."

"Maybe I did, but I never expected it to go to the point of—!"

"You didn't like it?" Again that almost preternatural tranquility in his voice.

She knew exactly what he meant. "Oh, you think because you made me come you can do whatever you want to me! Well, buster, you'd better think again. I don't appreciate being thrown around like a ragdoll! And where do you get off going into my butt? Don't you ever do that again without asking me!"

She cursed herself for that last sentence—a plain suggestion that she might let him do that particular procedure again if only he asked. She had meant to convey unmistakably that this would be their last meeting.

He did something she didn't expect. He pulled over to an empty parking space along the busy street they were on and, turning off the car, faced her with intense earnestness. That gaze was unreadable—a mix of admiration, eagerness, annoyance, and even a bit of anger. What the hell did he have to be angry about?

"Laurie, listen to me," he said—and she realized that there was something in his deep baritone voice that reached right into her heart, and perhaps other parts of her body. "You're tough. You don't take guff from anyone, especially men. You're not a helpless victim—never have been. I wouldn't have done what I did if I didn't admire your strength and your resilience, and if I didn't think you were a fit companion for me.

"Maybe I did go a bit too far. But I did so only because you've affected me in a way that no woman—that's right, not even my wife—has ever done. There's so much more to you than just your pretty face or your spectacular figure. We're going to have a long relationship, you and I, so you'd better get used to the idea."

By the time Patrick was done with this incredible speech, he had leaned forward so that his face was inches from hers. All she could do was gape at him. After a few moments of awkward silence he started up the car again and continued to drive to the restaurant.

Over the meal they exchanged very few words, although Patrick was clearly doing his best to draw Laurie out about herself—her life, her family, her feelings. She was in such a state of bafflement and confusion that she hardly even knew where she was.

When the meal was over, he drove her back to her apartment building. The trip was made in near-total silence.

Patrick pulled the car into the parking lot. He immediately got out of the car, walked around the front of it, and opened the door for Laurie. She dazedly accepted the gesture in spite of her loathing of this notorious instance of male "courtesy." When she stepped out of the car and headed toward the door of her building, he followed her—and she had a sinking feeling that she was about to be on the receiving end of another wrestling match that ended with her inevitable defeat and the spreading of her legs (and bottom) to accommodate his apparently insatiable member.

But when he reached the door, he gave Laurie a token hug and a little kiss on the cheek. Admittedly, the hand he placed on the small of her back was dangerously close to her butt, but it didn't quite get there.

"I had a nice time, but I'm in the middle of some work, so I'll have to call it a night. Hope to see you again soon."

And he left.

Laurie was left standing speechless on the doorstep of her building, watching him drive away. Once again, though in a very different way from before, she thought to herself: What just happened here?

She frantically fished in her purse for her keys, found them, and rushed into her building. Entering her apartment, she threw her purse and the thin sweater she'd worn over her dress on the sofa, then stalked over to the full-length mirror in her bedroom.

You're telling me that this oversexed man could resist what he was seeing all evening?

She unzipped the dress and let it fall to the floor, then stepped out of her bra and panties. No doubt about it: she looked fabulous. Then why—?

She flung herself on the bed. It was ridiculously early—barely 9 o'clock—and there was no way, given the turbulence of her mind and heart, that she could go to sleep now. But that wasn't her plan.

Closing her eyes and, in spite of herself, thinking of that impromptu double session of copulation she'd had with Patrick last Sunday, she snaked a hand down to her sex and began teasing herself. She was surprisingly wet—and suspected that she would have been an easy victim to his importunities if only he could have bothered to come up to her place and make a pass at her.

She tried to go slow, but everything about the frustrating evening she'd just been through impelled her to rush through her usual course of stimulation to the sought-for conclusion. But even as she was fondling herself, stroking both the inside and the outside of her labia, sticking two or three fingers deep into her vagina, and using her thumb to tickle her clitoris, she couldn't help thinking of how Patrick had made those exact moves on her—except that she was lying prone, not supine as she was now—after the "horseplay" that led him to pull down her pants, bring her to climax, shove his cock into her pussy, and then plug up her anus.

She came, but the orgasm was not at all satisfying, and she couldn't prolong it the way Patrick had done. Moaning loudly in self-revulsion, she just lay there wondering what to do—and what the hell to do about this man who had insinuated himself into her life.

To her surprise, she suddenly fell into a deep sleep.

*

Next morning at work, it was obvious that Tammy was in an unholy state of eagerness to find out from Laurie if she'd really given the vile Patrick Williamson the tonguelashing he deserved.

"Oh, yeah," Laurie said nervously, "I told him where to get off."

"What did he do?" Tammy said, eyes wide. "Did he retreat into a shell? Men hate strong women who don't kowtow to them!"

"I don't know," Laurie muttered.

"What do you mean, you don't know? What did he say? You did tell him you weren't going to see him again, didn't you? Did you even continue with the date? I mean, how do you sit down with a man over dinner after telling him that?"

"Well, look, I didn't exactly say I wouldn't see him again—but I made it clear to him that what he did was totally out of bounds. I—I think that was enough."

Tammy gazed at her friend in an agony of disappointment. "You didn't end it with him?"

"No."

"You went ahead with dinner?"

"Yes. It was actually a pretty good Japanese restaurant. I'm glad I tried it."

"Laurie, who cares about the restaurant? How could you—?" Then an even more appalling thought came over her. "You—you didn't end up sleeping with him again?"

"No," Laurie said with a bitterness Tammy didn't quite understand.

"Well, that's a relief."

"I suppose you could say that."

Laurie heaved herself up from the chair next to the desk in Tammy's cubicle. "I guess we'd better get to work."

Predictably, Patrick called her a few hours later. They had only a brief conversation, but—trying to keep her voice down so that Tammy wouldn't hear—she agreed to meet Patrick for another dinner date on Friday.

The date was fine—Patrick took her to a nice Italian restaurant whose service was matched only by the quality of the cuisine—but as he drove her back to her apartment, Laurie felt that she was pretty obviously going to be the dessert. It was nothing Patrick said; there wasn't even anything in the way he looked at her—although he did look at her keenly and even a bit analytically, as if she was a specimen in a microscope that he hadn't seen before. It was simply his unmistakable but unspoken assumption that he would end up in her bed tonight, and that doing so would be a favor conferred on her more than on him.

He merely nodded when she said, "Would you like to come in for a nightcap?" She opened the door of her building and led him up to her place.

They did in fact have a nightcap: he, to her mild amusement, found some chocolate mint liqueur that he said he was partial to. So you've got a sweet-tooth, eh, Mr. Williamson? Am I sweet enough for you, or do you find me a little too tart?

They snuggled on the couch, then began kissing. She had to admit he was a really good kisser: he never puckered his lips, just pressed them against her own with mild but unrelenting force. And he smelled good—not from any cologne or after-shave, but from his own body scent. That made her a lot more wet than any artificial scent could have done—and she had to admit that she was wet.

But when he scooped her up from the couch and calmly walked toward the bedroom, she cried, "Oh, for goodness' sake, Patrick, put me down!"

He did, but not until he reached the bed—and then he unceremoniously dumped her upon the mattress, then flipped her over so that she was on her stomach. With a brisk motion he unzipped her dress—a somewhat longer and less risqué one than what she had worn on that frustrating date two nights ago—and pulled it down off her shoulders. In under a minute he'd removed her bra and panties, leaving her naked. He remained fully clothed.

She had no idea what, specifically, he was going to do. Surely he wasn't going to enter her while remaining dressed! But no, he had other things in mind. He rolled her over again, not particularly gently, so that she was on her back. Then he parted her legs and, kneeling down on the floor, buried his face in her sex.