Matchmaker 04: April

They helped her put together a new, professional audition tape, and three months after that, only four weeks after she graduated high school, she signed with Peacock, a major record label. She spoke with enthusiasm, clearly proud of her accomplishments. And why wouldn't she be? Millions of men and women dreamed of having a career on stage, but she'd made it, and made it big. In the six years since she joined Peacock, she'd had three number one hits, five more that made it into the top forty, and had two Grammys. Now Nebula Studios was putting her in a movie. She wasn't the star, but it wasn't a bit part either, and as she said, she had to start somewhere.

I listened to several of her biggest hits on her phone. Some of her songs were upbeat, fast, and playful, while others were slow and heartbreaking. My taste in music ran to modern country, and while I liked her rollicking numbers better than her slow songs, there was no denying she had the voice of an angel no matter what she was singing.

At twenty-five, almost five years younger than me, she was well on her way to becoming a superstar. I was moderately successful and happy with my lot in life, but compared to her life of glamor, I was less than a nobody.

"Tell me again why you agreed to do this?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"Agreed to come to Padre Island and spend a month with you?" She nodded. "Who wouldn't? What guy doesn't dream of spending a month alone with a beautiful, sexy superstar."

She looked up at me, her face crinkling in playful annoyance. "Like you knew that when you agreed."

"How do you know I didn't?"

"Because when you saw me, even when I told you my name, you didn't recognize me. I could see it in your face. If you're that good an actor, I want you to star in my next movie."

"Okay, you're right. I'd never heard of you. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. In ten years, everyone, even you, will recognize my name. I'll be one of those one name stars, like Madonna. You've heard of her, haven't you?"

I grinned. "Yeah. Is that the measure of success, having only one name? Tara?"

"Yeah. Elvis. Madonna. Sting. Bono." She paused, a smile tickling her lips. "Tara. So, really, why'd you do it?"

"I told you. I needed a break."

"That's not an answer. You could have taken a break any time. Why did you wait until now?"

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"You don't know, or you don't want to tell me?"

"I don't know. Not really. About six months ago my girlfriend walked out on me and I figured, what hell."

"I'm sorry to hear that. What happened?"

"I guess she wasn't happy and found someone else. I came home from work one day and she broke the news she was leaving."

"Ouch. You had no idea?"

"In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. We were just going through a rough patch, but I thought we could work it out. I guess we couldn't. I have no proof, but after she dropped the news on me, some things she did, was doing, made a lot more sense. I suspect she was probably cheating on me as well."

"So you decided to take a chance with me?"

I shrugged. "Not so much that as I got tired of Mom trying to fix me up. I signed up on this dating app just to get Mom to leave me alone, and here I am. What about you?"

"Why am I doing this?" I nodded. "Because I'm so tired of not having any friends."

"Are you kidding? You must have millions of people who want to be your friend."

Her smile was slightly sad. "Fans aren't friends."

"I guess I can see that."

"Also, all my old friends, the ones I had before I got big, are either jealous of me or try to use me. I don't know who I can depend on, who I can trust. Everyone wants something from me."

I nodded slowly. "I guess that's the downside of being famous."

"Yeah. I had no idea what it would be like. I love what I do, but I was actually happier before I got big." She paused and looked at me. "Do you know what the one criteria I gave Brooklyn was?" I shook my head. "I wanted someone who didn't know me, and I wanted to go somewhere where I wouldn't be recognized. At least not right away. I wasn't going to tell you who I was, but, well, I figured you'd find out eventually, and I wanted to see if you really didn't know me or if you were just pretending."

"I really didn't know you. My tastes are more Taylor Swift, Shania Twain, and Alan Jackson."

She nodded. "So I've noticed."

I tipped her face up with a finger under her chin. "I'd like to get to know you, though."

"Would you really?" she asked with a small smile.

"Intimately," I murmured as my lips closed over hers.

I stretched and groaned. Like most mornings, I woke to the smell of bacon, eggs, and coffee. I wasn't a morning person and liked to sleep in, but Chuck was an early riser. A very early riser. I smiled as I burrowed down into the covers. He'd risen a lot in the past couple of weeks.

I wouldn't put it past Brooklyn to have scheduled our time on Padre Island during the rainy season to force us to spend time together in the condo. It had rained, at least part of the day, ten of the last fourteen days. Having lived my entire life in sunny southern California, I wasn't used to so much rain, but after our second day together, I didn't mind nearly so much.

When he'd tipped my lips up to his the second night, his kiss had started slow, sweet, and innocent. We'd spent almost an hour snogging, our kissing slowly becoming ever more passionate as his hands roamed over my body, until we'd began slowly removing our clothing.

I'd swung my legs to either side of his hips, my knees buried deep in the cushions as he sat on the couch, enjoying the feel his hardness between our flesh as we devoured each other. I was his first black lover, and he was my first white, but the color of our skin no longer mattered. I'd held his face, our kiss torrid as he gently caressed my skin, his fingers dragging lightly over me, leaving behind tendrils of crackling pleasure. He teased my nipples to aching hardness with his lips and tongue, moaning softly as he slid deep inside me. I'd taken his lips, and with another quiet moan of pleasure into his mouth, I began to rock my hips.

I smiled in memory as I stretched again. He'd felt incredible inside me, filling me, stretching me like few lovers had, but I must have felt even better to him. We'd barely started when he pulled my lips firmly to his, crushing my breasts to his chest, and grunted in orgasm as he filled me with his essence. I didn't realize at first that he was coming, but as his held me down on his cock, his wetness flooding into me, surprise and dismay rose within me that he couldn't hold his nut longer than that. He hadn't lasted much over a minute, and I began to frost over as he slowly pulled back from the kiss and nudged me off him.

I got more upset by the moment. He'd come like a fucking teenager, didn't seem the least bit upset by doing so, and he was done? No apology, no promise to do better the next time, no guilt for leaving me hanging, and apparently no concern about finishing me? I stood and glared at him, my ire rising with every heartbeat. That was the last time he would get a taste of me.

I needn't have worried. He rose from the couch, picked me up, and kissed me furiously as he held me to his chest. He was beginning to soften, but there was still fire in his kiss, and when he turned, I wrapped my legs around him as he carried me across the room and up the steps. Chuck must be incredibly strong. Though I could tell every tread of the stairs was painful for him because of my added weight, he carried me as if I weighed little more than a bag of feathers, and he'd further proven his strength since, tossing me around in the bed and manhandling me as we fucked like I weighed nothing at all.

He'd carried me to his room, gently laid me in the center of the bed, and after gently cleaning me, proceeded to kiss and lick me to two thundering orgasms. As he pleased me with his mouth and tongue, he'd returned to his original steel like hardness, and I was still gasping from my second orgasm when he slid deep inside me.

As we fucked, I saw him grimace occasionally, obviously still hurting from his run that morning, but he'd cowboyed up and fucked me until I tapped out. As we snuggled after our love making, he'd confessed he hadn't been with a woman since his girlfriend had walked out on him. No wonder he'd come so quickly. If I'd been six months without a lover, I'd have been on a hair trigger myself. Since then, he'd proven time and again he had the stamina to satisfy me completely, and in the two weeks since I'd met him, I discovered the appeal of cowboys.

I groaned as I stretched again. We'd made love every night and again every morning, often with another romp in the middle of the day if it was raining. He'd wake me with slow, tender kisses, fuck me until I was a quivering, boneless blob, then hold me until I slipped back into the blissful darkness of well fucked sleep. When I woke next, a couple of hours later, I could always smell breakfast. It was absolutely the most perfect way to start a day.

As good as mornings were, nights were usually even better. We often labored long into the night as I cried my pleasure to the world. We'd fucked in both bedrooms, both bathrooms, the living room, and once on the stairs. One evening he'd pressed me against the large window in the bedroom and fucked me long and hard as lightening lit the sky and thunder rumbled. We'd had a good laugh the next day when I noticed and pointed out the vaguely woman shaped smear I'd left of the window.

He'd been an amazing, forceful, and adventuresome lover. After a trip out, he'd taken me in his truck as it sat in the garage, the windows fogging over as we gasped and writhed in pleasure, but nothing could compare to fucking on the lawn. He fucked me in the soft grass as it rained, and while nobody was on the beach because of the rain, I still felt a sense of urgency and wanted to come quickly before someone saw us. I had, and it had been a brain twister, too.

I groaned as I twisted, squirming my way lower in the bed. I didn't want to get up, but the smell of breakfast was calling so I rolled out of bed and pulled on the shirt he'd been wearing when we went to bed. It hung on me like a dress, but it made me feel sexy to wear his shirt with nothing else on. I relieved myself and then padded down the steps.

"Morning, sunshine," he said with a smile.

Typically, he wasn't wearing a shirt, strutting around the kitchen wearing nothing but the stretchy boxer briefs he wore, his manhood bulging enticingly. He pulled me into a kiss, holding me tight.

"Ready for breakfast?" he asked as he began scooping eggs onto a plate.

I was certain I was putting on weight, but dammit, I needed the strength to keep up with him. He'd refused to go running with me again, but he was fucking the shit out of me all the time, and on top of that, he had a seemingly boundless well of energy. Between the fucking, we walked on the beach hand in hand, explored shops in South Padre Island, and drove back to the mainland so he could show me parts of his home state.

My attitude about Texas was slowly changing. I'd been recognized a couple of times by fans, but unlike in L.A., where people thought nothing of coming up and asking for a photo, here the people were polite, often apologized for bothering me, and demurely asked for a photo or autograph. I didn't mind, and always complied, and Chuck was bemused by the fame, especially when asked for his autograph. He always signed without comment, silently laughing because they assumed he was someone famous simply because he was with me.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind eating something," I purred, tickling his package.

"Keep that up, and you might get the chance," he rumbled, dragging a finger across a nipple.

I looked outside. The sky was bright and blue. We'd seen so little sun it seemed a shame to waste the day by going back to bed, but I considered it. Maybe it would rain later. I smiled as a tickle of anticipation and excitement rippled through me.

We ate, discussing our plans for the day. Since the sun was shining, we decided to go into South Padre Island, just to get out of the villa for a while. South Padre Island wasn't a big town, but we still hadn't sampled all the restaurants or visited all the touristy shops.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked as we sipped our coffee.

I watched him over the rim of my mug. "Sure. What?"

"I don't want to upset you."

We'd grown much more comfortable with each other over the two weeks we'd spent together. I'd learned not to be so quick to make assumptions, so his comment worried me. "Okay. What?"

"The noises you make when we're making love. Are those for me?"

I frowned slightly. "For you?"

"Yeah. You're so... vocal. You're the first woman I've been with that has been so... outgoing. I was wondering if you do that because you think you have to, or because you think I expect you to."

I clamped down my rising annoyance, waiting to properly understand his question. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"No, not at all, but I don't want you to think you have to perform for me."

"You think I'm performing for you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. If you're not, fine, but if you are, I just want you to know you don't have to. I like you for who you are, not for who you think you should be."

I looked down. The truth was, I was performing for him, as I performed for all my bedmates. I thought it was what men wanted from their lovers. It was my experience that men liked for me to cry out and stroke their egos about how good they were fucking me.

"Do you want me to stop?" I asked, admitting nothing.

"I want you to be yourself, that's all."

I watched him for a long moment. "Okay."

He said nothing else, not pressing after saying his piece. I didn't know why, but now I felt self-conscious about my behavior. He said it hadn't bothered him, and he didn't seem to mind using words to wind me up. He would occasionally order me to 'come on' or to 'keep fucking me.' Sometimes he would demand I come or not come as I approached my orgasm, depending on the situation. But he used his words to add spice to our love making, not to make a meal.

"I'm going to get a shower," I said as I rose.

"Want some company?"

I smiled. "If you think you're up for it."

"I guess we'll see when I get there, huh?"

"I'll get started. Don't be long."

I slowly walked up the steps to my bath. I paused at the top, watching over the rail as he picked up our dishes and began rinsing them and placing them in the dishwasher. I smiled as I watched in silence for a moment. Mr. Charles Dalmer was slowly peeling back the layers I'd built up to find the true Tara Reyes, and I liked that. I liked that a lot.

After our shower, and some soapy, slippery fun, Chuck drove us to the north end of State Park Road. We parked in the sand at the end of the road with a few other cars and walked along the beach. This was protected state park land, so there was no development for almost a hundred miles north. I enjoyed the quiet walks by the gulf, and Chuck seemed to as well. One of the things I wanted to do was fuck him in the waters of the gulf, but unlike when we did the deed in the grass at the villa, there was no landscaping to give us the illusion of privacy. Besides, the water was too cold.

We walked along the beach, the wind coming off the water whipping my hair. In the distance I saw movement in the sand and felt a tingle of fear. I didn't know what wildlife might be around, or if it was dangerous.

"What?" Chuck asked as I stiffened and slowed.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing.

"Where?" he asked as he stared in the direction I was pointing.

"There, in the sand. See it? It's some kind of animal."

He continued to stare and then smiled. "I think it's a sea turtle."

"Really?" I asked as I started forward, wanting to get closer.

"I think," he said, pulling me to a stop before I took two steps.

"I want to see."

"I think we should leave her be. She's probably laying her eggs." He looked down at me and smiled. "How'd you like if a couple of strangers walked up on you while you were busy breeding?"

I snickered. "Okay, point taken, but can't we get a little closer?"

He pulled me down the beach and to the side where we struggled up a dune. We were a bit closer, but the added elevation helped, allowing us to better observe the turtle doing her thing. We watched for her several minutes until she began burying her nest and then labored slowly back to the gulf.

"That was so cool," I gushed as we walked back to his truck. "I wish I had a camera." I hadn't even tried to take one with my cell, knowing I'd never be able to see her in the picture from so far away.

He opened my door for me, and I crawled into the truck. I was getting used to him opening doors for me. "Ready for lunch?"

"Starving! I worked up an appetite this morning."

He grinned as he shut the door and walked around the truck. He settled into the truck, and after some maneuvering, the truck throwing sand from all four wheels as it struggled to drag itself back to the road, we returned to South Padre Island for lunch.

We were sitting in a sandwich shop talking quietly when I noticed an older man and his wife staring at me. I was used to people watching me, but they didn't look like fans. Their faces were hard and their eyes cold. I smiled at them, but that only seemed to make their glare more malevolent.

"Why are they staring at us?" I whispered as they continued to scowl at me.

"Who?" I subtly nodded in the direction of the other table. He glanced that way and returned his attention back to me. "Beats me. You should be used to it, being a famous singer and actress."

I grinned. "Not a famous actress yet."

I tried to ignore them, but it was hard. Every time I looked in their direction, they were watching me. We finished our meal. By silent agreement, Chuck paid for our meals out, and after he tucked his card away, he led me to the door, his hand on my back.

"I don't know why people can't stick to their own kind," the man said as we passed.

He was speaking to his wife, but he'd timed his comment so we'd overhear as we passed. I flashed hot with anger. Just as I was beginning to believe all the talk of racism in the south was just talk. I stomped out with Chuck, fuming.

"Did you hear what that asshole said?" I snarled once we were in the parking lot.

"I heard." He was infuriatingly calm.

"That doesn't make you mad?"

He stopped and turned to face me. "No, not really." I couldn't believe he said that. "It makes me sad more than anything."

"Sad? The fact he didn't like us together doesn't make you mad? It does me."

He shook his head. "No, not really. Why should I care what that ignorant asshole thinks?"

"Well, it pissed me off."

"Why? I suspect the comment was directed at me, not you."

"You? Why do you think it was directed at you?"

He shrugged. "Because I'm the man, and that means I'm in charge and I'm allowing myself to be used by you, or whatever he believes. Don't let it bother you."

"Well it does. I was just starting to believe you about there being no racists down here."

"I never said that. There are idiots and assholes everywhere, not just down here. The same thing could have happened anywhere. He's probably just jealous."

"Jealous?"

"Yeah. I've got a goddess on my arm, and he has to go home to his wife every night."

The man's wife was average looking, or would have been, had her appearance not been colored by her bigotry.

"I don't understand how you can be so calm about this shit. It's people like you that allow crap like this to continue."