My Alexander

He'd never been impatient, lapping at my cunt. Because he'd always known, all along, that we had all the time in the world. He knew he would take me later, and that it would be glorious. And that meant I knew it too. Whereas with Mike? It was like he was in a race, and I was the car he was driving.

And still! Still, he was making me feel okay. My mind wandered as his tongue did, pondering what a sexual masterpiece Mike would be able to produce, despite his very average penis size, if he had even half of Greg's empathy.

It had to be a function of experience. Age. Confidence. Had to be.

I told myself to relax, to lose myself, to enjoy the sensations. To be grateful for Mike's efforts. To look forward to him nailing me. Once, those kinds of thoughts were easy for me; not anymore, though. Not since Greg.

He added a finger, steady along the inside of my vagina, and I did feel something. A tingle. The beginnings of an inkling of an orgasm. But then he spoiled it by moving on, fingers aimless now, tongue going through the motions, and then the inkling was gone. Because I'd looked down between my tits, down my sweaty belly, down my mound all sprinkled with its tuft of trimmed hair, and I'd seen Mike's eyes.

They were clear. He was ready to fuck.

So? I did what I'd always done with so many guys, what I'd never had to do with Greg. I thrust my fingers into his hair and tugged, signaling that I wanted him up at my face, lips on mine, eyes closed, dick plunging. I didn't want that. Not really. But he did, and it would take too much time and effort to turn him into a perfect lover.

Greg hadn't needed to be turned into anything.

And I wondered whether Mr Collins would. Alex, I reminded myself; Alexander, actually. That was his name, as Mike's lips eased their slippery way up my smooth flesh, pausing to suck my nipple hard between his teeth (he knew I loved that, but he was finished so soon!) before his tongue flashed along my neck and I realized, so quickly, that the blunt object prying my pussy lips apart was no longer a finger. I knew my role now. I drew my feet up his muscular thighs, wound my arms around his neck, and opened my mouth for him.

Chinese Mike enjoyed kissing during sex. I knew.

I took his tongue and his dick at the same moment, his long body propped carefully above mine so that he could swing his hips the way he liked. He was an exuberant lay, the kind of guy who liked long, even strokes, and he started in on me as soon as his balls squashed themselves against my taint. He felt familiar, comfortable in my cunt; he had an endearing habit of thrusting with his tongue in rhythm with the thrusts of his penis, and for a few contented moments I forgot all about Greg or Alex or Carl or old Justin Clamm with that fat dick he had, the first I'd ever taken, and it was only Mike as I let him have my body.

He wouldn't get my orgasm, though. He was nowhere close. There'd been a time when he'd been able to pull me most of the way there, enough that I'd want to do him twice or three times in one night, but it seemed those days were over. And it was me, not him. He just kept nailing me, driving deep with that skinny dick of his, his sweat now falling on my skin in the silver moonlight of the summer evening on his parents' bed.

His hips swung more deeply as he tired, his tongue stabbing me more erratically, so I patted his shoulder and started to turn my hips over; he didn't usually like it as much from back there, but my mouth tasted like his dinner and I was in the mood for doggy. He obliged, planting his knees, and within a few moments my thighs were slapping to the rabbit-like rhythm he tended to use from behind. I knew he wouldn't spank me, or spit on me, or call me a bitch or whatever; I was content to crouch there on his mom's flowered comforter, making an occasional gasp, watching upside-down as his balls swung against my body like a pendulum.

Mike was a gentleman. I knew I wouldn't need to tell him to pull out.

He nutted with a ragged gasp, spurting all across my ass and back with warm, eager force. "Fuck," he raved quietly, almost in awe, and I arched more deeply for him so that he could watch his cum roll slowly up my spine. Because I knew he'd like it, and he was a good friend.

And in my mind's eye was the piercing azure gaze of Alexander Collins. I was shocked it was there.

* * *

I brooded at work most of that week, and people noticed. I wasn't my usual effervescent self. "Uh, do you want to talk about it?" Carl and I had just two shifts together that week, and he wasted no time trying to give me a shoulder to cry on.

Well. That had to stop. So I glanced mildly at him, arched a deliberate eyebrow, and very sweetly replied, "Talk about it for how long, Carl? Thirty seconds?" That was about as long as he'd lasted once he'd finally gotten inside me, and I watched his eyes as my knife sank into his back. Then I gave it a twist. "Look, it was fun. But we're not married. So no. I don't want to talk about it, dude. Go clean the counter." He'd slunk away without a word, leaving me to reflect on life's many oddities: he was such a hottie. Why was he also such a bitch?

Tuesday came and I was off the schedule because Brittani needed the shift, so I had no way of knowing if the Collinses showed up... until I came in on Wednesday and checked the previous day's receipts. Yep. Three kids, one adult. I wondered whether it had been that bitch Michelle, or my darling rugged Alexander that had brought them. Probably Michelle.

I daydreamed for the rest of that day, a long and delightful fantasy that left me all kinds of tingly and, well, fairly damp. But I was wearing dark shorts, so that was okay. The fantasy involved Michelle and the kids heading over here to hit some balls and eat some ice cream while I headed over to their house to hang out with Alex, playing with other balls, eating other cream.

I'd slink up to him as he stood there making coffee in his bathrobe, or lounged on the couch with a book, or worked out of his home office on TPS reports or something, or as he stepped out of the shower with water beading off his greying chest hair... I went through all those scenarios and many more. I'd say nothing, just stand before him and disrobe with my eyes smoldering, letting him see me unveil myself. Then I'd strut down the hall to his bed, or I'd lean casually across the back of the couch, or I'd go out to the pool I didn't know whether they had in their backyard, and dive cleanly in like a water-nymph... I went through all those scenarios, too. And many more.

There were a lot more daydreams than that, but almost all of them ended with me panting, delirious, his sperm leaking out of my pussy. And always, forever, that azure gaze of his penetrated me just as much as his cock did. I could almost see him there, in reality instead of fantasy, all day long.

I'd have to make sure I was on the schedule for next Tuesday. That's all there was to it. Shouldn't be hard: I normally worked Tuesdays. But if Brittani needed more hours this time, she could go fuck herself.

I sat in the cramped office during my break, fingers flying over my phone as I searched him up. I checked Pixboox and found his wife's page, with interminable photos of their kids and none of him. I found nothing else useful, other than some vague references to three men that could be him: an artist, a stockbroker, and a priest, which sounded like the setup for a bad joke.

Well. At least I knew he couldn't be the priest.

I was sitting there with Kenny out on the counter, running the place on that lazy Wednesday, the open window letting in a warm eager blast of summer: the sound of laughing kids and the fountain on Hole Six, the smell of our popcorn and the grass clippings from Anderson's law practice next to the parking lot, the warm sigh of the breeze off the faraway ocean. My mind was moving darkly, toward the possibility (the faint, insidious possibility) of finding a way to engineer a meeting with this man I was thinking about. No, this man I was pining for.

Hell. This man I was obsessed with.

The clock ticked loudly on the wall, chopping out the length of my break, when suddenly Kenny stuck his head in the door. "Sophie? There's some dude here asking about a giftcard? Do we have those?"

I sighed. This was my fifth summer working for Silly PUTTy's, and Kenny was on his first. Probably a sophomore? Junior? Still in high school, anyway. "Yeah. They're in the drawer. Pink envelope."

"Oh. Um... how do I do them?"

I let him see me roll my eyes, because "boss-as-bitch" had been the way I'd been broken in here by the illustrious Becky Sanders back when I'd been sixteen, and nevermind that Becky was waiting tables in the nude at Cheeks and Company now, she still remained my stereotype for what a proper summer minigolf manager should be like. "Jesus fucking Christ," I spat, "I'll come out and do it. You can watch and learn." I tried my best glower as I sighed my way out of the chair behind the desk and stalked out behind the counter. "How can I help you today?" I was already trilling as I got out there to see who my customer was.

And stopped short, because of course. Of course.

"I'll take this, Kenny," I squeezed out of the side of my mouth. "Go restock the pencil cups outside." He glared at me, but went; it was almost a hundred degrees out there, the poor lamb. But I didn't give a flying fuck, because apparently my crush had come in to pick up a giftcard.

Without his wife there, I felt safe ogling him. He was better-dressed than he had been last time, in a button-down shirt that fitted him well. Looked like a decent body, maybe on the stocky side, a little taller than me. Nice shoes. Chinos. New haircut. Brown glasses, framing those fucking devastating eyes. He smiled, aiming his eyes carefully at my face instead of my tits, which I appreciated.

But I wouldn't have minded. Not from this guy. "Mr Alexander Collins," I began, my voice lower than normal. I felt a strong urge to clear my throat. "What brings you into Silly PUTTy's this fine day?"

He gave a smile, a craggy masterpiece that went to my heart and my pussy, the kind of smile that reached his eyes. "I was wondering whether I could get a giftcard for another family, Miss Sophia." The grin this produced nearly hurt my face, it was so broad, an incandescent full-teeth curve of my lips that, I was sure, could be seen from space. The man was flirting! Unmistakably! Miss Sophia...

"Of course. I'd be happy to do that for you." I didn't look away as my hand went directly to the necessary drawer. My brain came alive for the first time in a week, circuits snapping, my hormones ratcheting up like they always had when I was interested in a guy. "You should bring them along with you next time you come," I purred. "Friday sounds good."

"Yeah? Why Friday?" He leaned his arm casually on the top of the ice cream case, fully at ease. I inhaled hard, wondering how he smelled, but I was slightly too far away to get there.

I thought of winking, but decided I didn't need to yet. "Because I'm working on Friday." I found a pen and began making out the giftcard. We never sold many of these, so each one was done by hand. "You could come on in and say hello."

His chuckle was warm. Patient. Hell, it was confident. Just like I'd daydreamed about. Like Greg, but Greg was the past. This guy was here, right here in front of me. "I'll give them your name and tell them to leave an obscene tip." I glanced up, eyes crinkling, thinking about a different obscene tip. The kind I wanted him to trawl through my pussy... I shifted my weight to keep my thighs from rubbing together, hoping his subconscious would figure out why.

"Yes, please," I said after awhile. "I'm always open to tips from amazing gentlemen. And any friend of yours must be pretty amazing, right?"

He nodded. "They're more friends of my wife, actually."

"Oh." I could hear the sudden ice in my own voice, and wondered whether he could too. "Well then. I'll just take a tip from you then, Alexander," I went on smoothly, and this time I did wink. I needed to banish that wife of his from our universe. He nodded. "How much?"

HIs eyebrows rose. "Of a tip?"

"For the giftcard, duh." I leaned in slightly. If he wanted to look down my shirt, he was more than welcome. I thought about undoing the polo button, but nah. Too much. My tongue raced to catch up to my brain, the flirty fastball hanging before me. "Any kind of tip you'd give me would be great, though. Any kind."

The man was probably in his early forties. Probably young enough to catch that. If so, he knew I wanted him to fuck me. If not? No biggie. He'd probably leave me at least five bucks for this one measly card. And as for the sex part, well, I supposed I could be patient if I had to. Besides, the flirting was fun.

It would give me something to think about next time I played with myself.

"Just however much a game is for a family of four? Two adults, two kids, with a little ice cream after."

"Big scoops or little ones?" I laughed and decided to go for it. "Little? Since they're only friends of your wife's, and not you?"

A good husband would not have taken that kind of bait, obviously; if he felt any loyalty toward that bitch Michelle, he should just smile vaguely and give no reply. Instead he chose to engage. "Oh, definitely little scoops." He joined in on my laugh.

"Yeah." I tried to keep any residual smugness out of my voice, hoping he wouldn't see just how exhilarated I was. Because I'd set my hook, I knew. "They've been here before?"

"I don't think so?"

I made a dismissive gesture. "I mean, if they're too cheap to even spring for a game of minigolf? Here? They deserve whatever we want to give them, right?" I signed the giftcard, logged the number in the binder, and handed it over. "There you go, Mr Alexander Collins."

"Thank you." He read my name off the card. "Miss Sophia Flack." A warm buzz rocked my body, from the hands and feet on inward. "Flack. Like when people try to shoot down airplanes?"

I froze. His first misstep. Boomers often said that kind of thing to me, and for the life of me I had no idea why. "Exactly like that," I nodded anyway. "Cash or card?"

"Oh." He reached for his butt and produced a brown leather wallet. Coach, I was pleased to see. "Card."

"Cool. You know what to do, then? Just take it out, then slide it right into the slot," I beamed, nodding toward the card reader on the counter.

"Oh, I know what to do all right." His arched eyebrow told me he'd probably caught the double-entendre, and another tingle ran through me. "So then you're off tomorrow?"

"Yes indeed," I nodded, "every Thursday. Why? Want to do lunch or something?" Brazen? Sure. But I smirked in case he thought it was too much. "Or you could just go hang out on the beach. Maybe I'd see you there."

"I have to work, sadly." The card reader bleeped. "Too bad. A day at the beach sounds wonderful."

"Oh, a day at the beach with me is always wonderful," I snickered, letting him make of that what he would. The transaction went through, and I snagged the receipt for him. "You want this, or are you just going to throw it away? Almost everyone chucks it before they even get out the door."

"I would too, honestly." He waved a hand. "You can keep it."

"You're so generous." I propped my palms on the counter and leaned out toward him ecstatic that we weren't busy. And that he wasn't skedaddling immediately. "So. What else can I do for you today?"

"That's all I came in here for," he shrugged, "so I guess that's it."

"You're sure?" I preened, leaning further down. Fuck me, I was hot for this guy. I'd have let him take me right now, over this very counter. "Customer satisfaction matters to us here at Silly PUTTy's, Mr Collins. I'd hate to let you go without knowing you were as happy as I could make you."

A slow, even grin spread over his mouth then, totally different from his earlier friendly smile. I hoped it meant he could see what I wanted him to see, that this was now a very different kind of conversation, as far as I was concerned. That smile told me he was probably on the same wavelength. "I mean, what else could I get?" He gestured out the window. "I'm not really dressed for golf."

I yawned elaborately. I'd expected that. "It's just that I take my customers really seriously. In fact, if there's anything you can think of, anytime at all, I could give you my phone number? You could feel free to reach out anytime, you know?" I'd never tried this approach before, but my instincts were screaming at me. I followed them without a second thought.

"Yeah?" He stared at me for a long moment then, his eyes slightly squinty. I thought I could see what was going on through them: possibilities. Desires. Temptations. Nothing he'd ever expected to be thinking about when he came in here and saw Kenny behind the counter, that's for sure. I was content to let him process all that, for this was going much better than I'd thought it would.

I'd had no idea I could do this to a man like Alex. But apparently, I could. Maybe it was the same thing that had reached out to Greg, months ago, though I'd always thought he'd seen something somehow special in me. Something I couldn't duplicate. Something I was now rolling out into the world, hoping to make this man stray. And a large part of me sensed that this was a crucially important moment, a time when he'd be sorting through a thousand different thoughts and ideas, and my part now was to wait for him. With a smile. And cleavage.

He looked down, as if to scan the ice cream flavors, and when he looked back up I was enthralled to see that the rakish smile, the squinty-eyed one, was still there. "You just don't see that kind of customer service anymore. I'm a little surprised."

I licked my lips. My own smile had never budged. "You've never had an assistant minigolf manager like me before, is all that means." I raised an eyebrow. "Want my number, Alexander?"

He swallowed once. "To reach out to anytime?"

"Anytime." I figured Kenny would be coming in soon, to ruin this whole thing, so I put some extra husk into my voice to move this along. Greg had liked that voice. "For anything at all."

"Well. That's a hard offer to refuse." I kept my face carefully frozen as he hauled his phone out of his pocket, still moving with that slow, easy self-assurance that had been pumping my juices since the day I'd seen him. "Why not. What's your number?"

I gave it to him quietly. It was always hard to tell whether there was sound on the cameras in there, but I knew I shouldn't be giving a customer my digits, let alone using the ice cream counter as a hookup zone. I watched as he typed my number in, then moved his fingers quickly across the keypad. "What are you labeling me as?" I asked quietly.

"Why wouldn't I just use your name?" He glanced pointedly at my nametag.

I looked carefully in both directions, reminding him that this was a secret. "I dunno. Maybe because your wife knows my name?"

He laughed at that, his face easing into a looser smile. "Good point. Uh, here. I should call you. So you know it's me if I ever need any more customer service."

"Oh, definitely," I giggled, completely unable to believe how well this was going. "Go for it, Alexander." I waited, letting his shrewd eyes rest on my massive brown ones before my phone warbled in the back pocket of my shorts. "Gee. Who could that be?"

"Just some guy," he shrugged. His eyes were on me fully now as I smashed the Add As Contact button and gloated over my own label. "So. Who am I?"

"Want to see?" I finished up the tag. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

He hesitated, and that gave me all the answer I needed. He'd added me as something like Hot Chick, or Sexy Sophia, or Tight Cooze or something equally scandalous. Which was fine, because I was calling him The Guy I Want To Bang. And I'd have shown him, absolutely. No doubt in my mind. A man so sharp? He knew it anyway. "Maybe another time. I'm in a hurry."