Stories, Stereotypes & Superlatives

"Don't you three have work to do?" Wyatt was talking to the trio of listeners. He never looked their way; he should not have known there were three. His friend Roger should be back by now too, but who knew? Wyatt didn't, he only saw Guinevere.

"Uh, yeah, sorry Wyatt," the bartender said as he began to move about.

"Uh, yeah, my bad," said one of the waitresses, following suit.

The other waitress was in awe of Wyatt, clutching her tray against her breast with one hand, slowly reaching for him with the other hand. She caught herself a moment later, shaking her head, and going back to work.

***

"Oh, baby... It'll be ok." Melissa was hugging the crying Allison in a surprisingly empty, and clean, bathroom, in a stall, both seated on the closed lid of the toilet within.

"No it won't!! It's my fault!" Allison was no longer hysterical, but she was still quite upset.

"Shhh... no baby, he's not worth i-" Melissa was interrupted in her comforting as Allison's bloodshot eyes stared into her soul for a moment.

"YES HE IS!" Allison only yelled at first, stopping her friend mid-sentence. "He's the perfect man..." The knock on the door of the stall left it at that.

"It's me. Open up. Please," Jennifer was quietly speaking from the other side of the door. Melissa reached up and let her in.

The moment Jennifer looked at Allison, and Allison looked at Jennifer, the two broke into sobbing and tears. They shared silent knowledge, believing they were changed forever. Melissa exchanged her seat to Jennifer, hearing the stall door lock as she left.

Melissa was going to find out what the hell was going on before her mind could make up any other excuses.

***

Wyatt was just finishing his drink when Melissa was in his face.

His intention was to finish his concoction and head for the beauty swaying her hips in opposite directions from her body - to introduce himself - and to find out why he could swear he knew her.

That chance vanished with the new hindrance before him.

"Please don't start this conversation angry," Wyatt said, while watching Guinevere start to not-really-dance with a random guy, just as Melissa's mouth parted in speech. It took her off her stride, temporarily, his calm and deep voice sucking away her rage. The lust in his eyes, for her friend, was melting Melissa in the best possible way. Melissa wanted Wyatt to look her way, but he did not, his eyes were only on Guinevere.

"My, uh, my friends are upset with you, you know." Melissa would hear him out. She was that type of person.

"Yeah, I know. Look, I'm sorry about all that, but they were totally absorbed with their own minds. I really didn't want to hurt them, at all..." Wyatt's voice trailed off as Guinevere twirled, her skirt rising and her breasts lifting. Melissa watched his eyes go wide for her friend. It all suddenly became clear to her as the pangs of jealousy hit deep within. She would kill Guinevere to get this man and this man would never forgive Melissa if she did.

"That's Gwen. Guinevere. She likes you too. My name is Melissa, Jen is the mean one, and Ally came over here first." Melissa watched as Wyatt grabbed a lined pad from under the counter along with a pen, still staring at Guinevere, and pushed it to the bar in front of her.

"If you write down everybody's name, first and last, I'll get you in the VIP whenever you want, comp'd drinks too. I am really sorry for being a dick and all, just sort of happened." Wyatt glanced at her for a moment, not really looking, before turning his attention back to his prize.

"No sweat, just, uh, avoid those two for a while," Melissa said while writing. When she had finished, she handed the pad to him. He wasn't being mean, he was pushed to anger, and she knew it now. He was a predator, a hunter, and her friends blocked his quarry. He still was not looking anywhere else but the dance floor.

"I'll do what I can, Melissa, no promises though. Hey Jimmy," Wyatt said turning slightly to the side to speak to the bartender, and holding the yellow papered pad up, "can you tell Roger to VIP and comp these names for me? Starting tonight. If he bitches, tell him I said he can fuck off, because he owes me."

"Sure thing, Wyatt," said the bartender as he grabbed the pad, which was stuck for a second in Wyatt's hand as he looked at it.

"Wyatt?" The bartender watched as the big man stared at the pad, looked at the girl on the dance floor, and stared at the pad again, finally letting go.

"Her name's Guinevere Hodges? Hodges? Are you sure?" His eyes were ablaze with depth, and blues, as he looked into Melissa's soul and pointed at Guinevere on the dance floor. His mouth hung open slightly as he kept looking back and forth, between Melissa and Guinevere.

"Uh, yeah? Always has been as far as I know. Why? What's up?" Melissa, once again, had no clue what was going on, but she was soaking her undergarments.

"Where are you guys from?" Wyatt asked Melissa after a short pause. When she answered his question, his mouth hit the bar, and he grabbed the smooth wood for support. Wyatt's eyes went glassy as he stared at Melissa's friend.

"No fucking way... I knew it... What are the fucking chances?" Wyatt was muttering as he walked away from Melissa, her questions unanswered, his fingers on one hand touching each other like he was counting.

*** Short Stories

Sometimes things happen like they do in the movies. This was one of those times. Had it not been for the totally unplanned separation of people, Guinevere would be bumping into and falling on others on the dance floor. Now though, because of the circle of dancers around her giving her space, she danced free spirited and only half to the beat of the song. Her body was flowing in moves that took up too much space.

"He likes me..." was endlessly repeating in Guinevere's head, her eyes mostly closed, as the boy she was not really dancing with slowly faded away. She was so caught up in the music, and her worries of competition far gone, that Guinevere never saw him approach.

She felt a firm hand touch her elbow while she was twirling again. Looking up, she saw his beautiful smile, but his face was pure dreamy wonder.

"My name is Wyatt, it's a pleasure to meet you, Guinevere Hodges," he began to speak to her. His voice was deeper, and much smoother, than she imagined. The two, in a seemingly planned and natural way, began to slow dance to a different beat.

"Wyatt what?" Guinevere asked him, while one hand found his hip, and the other, his chest. She inhaled his smell deeply, he smelled like leather and limes. His scent and warmth made her feel weak, so Guinevere leaned in close to him, laying her head on his chest. He jumped slightly, making her smile at his nervous reaction, but he eased in to hold her close.

"Uh, Billings. My last name is Billings," he said to her as they danced for the first and millionth time. No one ever asked Wyatt's last name, only the Sergeant.

One of his hands was sitting on her ribs, under her the bent elbow of the hand on his chest. The thumb was dangerously close to the underside of her breast, slowly tickling the surface it found. His other hand was slowly caressing the upper part of the bent arm she had around his waist.

"I'm glad I found you already, I hoped I would, but I was worried." Wyatt spoke after a minute of slow dancing, in time with an unknown melody.

"Me too," spoke Guinevere after another minute. There was no feeling of rush or speed, rather, time was slowing and extending a moment. The problem was, Wyatt was getting turned on.

Well, it was a problem, until Guinevere reached into his unbelted pants, adjusted his hardness up and out of the way, and then continued dancing together with him. Wyatt shivered at her touch, rumbling a sound deep from in his chest. He felt like she was reading his mind. This is what he waited for, a woman like this. This was his Golden Ticket.

"I know you. I mean, I know who you are," Wyatt spoke up after a long moment, touching her chin with a curved finger, to bring her eyes to his. The random strands of hair in her face, and her eyes studying past his appearance, forced him to look away, his lust too great.

"I know you do, I can tell," she replied to him after a smile at his affection. She returned her head to his chest, and slipped a hand into one of his empty back pockets. She was feeling his ass, it made him jump again, but he relaxed in time.

"No, no, I mean, I know who you are, for real, I-" Wyatt never had a chance to finish, as a finger hit his lips, her eyes were on his again. Guinevere simply repeated herself, like the Ying to his Yang.

"Shh... I know you do. I can tell," and before he could respond, they were kissing on the dance floor, dancing slowly, while other bodies danced and writhed in a circle around them, to a totally different idle.

***

"I never had a chance," said Allison, much happier since she could get drunk now, for free. She was sitting at a table with Jennifer and Melissa, a VIP table, as a smiling waitress brought them drink after drink. They were all watching the two on the dance floor make out, molding together.

"No, no... We didn't," Jennifer replied, after thanking the waitress for her hard work.

"Well, at least he's a bunch nicer than we thought. He did hook us up for the rest of the summer," Melissa was going to defend him from now on, for Guinevere if anything else.

"I'd have preferred a different hook-up." The response came from Allison. She was the bold one. Her innuendo not lost, all three began to laugh and laugh.

Unquestionably, their laughter and sudden joy brought eyes to skin, nearby tables were full of boys trying to find a girl in the last operating hour of the club.

"What about those four?" Allison spoke up after a few moments, directing her friends's attention, not as into it as previous attempts.

"Ha, you mean the A-Team!?" It was Jennifer, breaking the mood.

"No thank you," Melissa injected in timed response.

They laughed again; long, loud, and revolving; before Jennifer spoke up.

"I think I'm going home alone with you guys tonight, I've been ruined. Who's with me?"

***

"You should take me home now, Mr. Wyatt Billings, I'm ready to go," the young woman finally spoke to her dancing partner. He had been making her wet, making her flood herself, since they began their dance this morning during the road trip. Knowing what kind of steel he was packing, since her adjustment for him, and the road trip, had only made it stronger.

"Mind if I drive, lover?" Wyatt asked her, smoothly stopping the dance, letting the universe other than her back into his senses. He still held Guinevere as close as before, looking down into her eyes as she looked up at him.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she said as she pulled his hand towards the door, glancing at her half-lit friends at a table; smiles in both directions. Her three friends were waving, yet amazed at the fact that the two had not started having sex on the dance floor.

"So where's your car? I didn't see it earlier," Guinevere spoke after they had made it to the parking lot, after a long kiss upon arrival. She was already reaching into his front pockets to find his keys, thoughts of his hand brushing her knee with every shift causing misfires and sparks to flow through her body.

"Uhhh..." That was the best Wyatt could do, one of her hands found his key, and the other latched onto his hard shaft.

Pulling out the key filled hand and leaving the other on his column, Guinevere noticed the alarm keychain and hit the 'unlock' button. The lights on his car flashed, it was parked next to a pair of very nice luxury sedans and a large pickup, against one side of the building. The employee only parking, as it was marked. The car he had brought made the luxury sedans look cheap and bulky, and it made the pick-up look like it was touching the sky.

"That's beautiful," she said as she stared at the older vehicle for a long moment, and then began kissing him again. Wyatt drove a modified, but street legal, version of her father's racecar, the same color without the graphics, rims to match. The license plate said "WOLF" in raised square letters.

The stockness of the other automobiles in the lot had hid his car from view.

"Yeah, it is," Wyatt said to Guinevere after the kiss. He never looked at his car, only her. She noticed, enthralled that she mattered more than mechanics to a mechanical man.

"How fast can you get me home?" Guinevere spoke, letting go of his member and running to his car, opening the passenger's door. The keys were still in her hand as she hopped into the plush leather bucket and began buckling herself.

"You're joking? Right?" He couldn't help but laugh, couldn't help but have every one of his senses overtaken by her natural beauty.

Wyatt chased after her, hopping into his own seat, buckling, and firing up the car. Together inside, they sat at the exit of the club parking lot just long enough to check for traffic, shortly pulling away as fast as physics would allow, tires screaming the entire trip.

***

"Where's your bathroom?" It was the first thing she had said since they left the club -- well - the first thing that was not "faster" in a husky whispered tone.

"It's uh..." Wyatt was pointing but the words would not come out. The club lighting had not done her justice, as now, instead of beautiful or gorgeous as he had originally thought, she was a super model. The entire trip she had one hand in his lap, and one in her own. Wyatt knew she was rubbing with both hands, because on the last turn before his house, he swore she came as she whimpered and shifted him hard.

"Down the hall, on the right?" She had spoken the location correctly, even though he was silent.

He simply nodded to Guinevere as she bounced through his rooms. She was impressed; his house was cleaner than her apartment. It was spotless and smelling of cleansers. The colors were all wrong though, lime greens, yellows, and purples covered the walls. Every picture was unframed; posters and various other things sporadically placed in a pattern that fit. She couldn't help but laugh at how single he was as she hopped into the bathroom, which was baby blue with a scrubbed shower.

"Want a beer?" He said to her, just before the bathroom door closed.

"Not thanks! So are you rich or something!?" Guinevere was yelling from the other side of the closed bathroom door. The amount of books and technology she had seen had to have cost him a pretty penny. Plus, the house, as poorly decorated as it may have been to most, was stunning from the exterior and hanging over the bay. Wyatt walked into the kitchen, grabbed a beer and made his way to the wall opposite the bathroom door, hooking a thumb into his pocket.

"Well, I guess? I mean, a lot of people have more. It's just money, right?" He replied, leaning on the wall opposite the door. "I still work and stuff like that, keeps me busy.

What about you, you're in college right?"

"Right!" he heard from the other side of the door, along with the sound of his sink turning on.

"Almost finished?" He asked the door.

"Right!" The door replied.

"So, what are you studying?" Wyatt said to the door.

"Neurology!" Said the echo from his bathroom, the sound of the sink turning off.

Wyatt was sold. Firstly, because Guinevere was smart, beautiful, freckled, playful, and understood him. Secondly, because she walked out of his bathroom in a white, designer bra and panty set, immediately taking the half-beer from his hand to slam down the remainder. He was in love; at that moment; for many reasons; her excessive freckles among them. Once again he swore she could read his mind.

"Sleek," was all Wyatt could say as he drank in her large breasts and sexy legs all formed to perfection. Some of the hair from her pigtails had fallen out, it had much earlier, but he assumed she must have styled some of in the bathroom mirror, as it looked like it should not be any other way than it was.

"Bedroom is where?" Guinevere asked him in a terribly sexy way, mocking confusion and sticking the index finger of her empty hand onto the dimple of her chin. She still held the condensed empty beer bottle. When her finger dropped from her chin, she began to play with the mouth of the bottle, with her tongue and teeth, waiting for his answer.

"It's, uh, it's at the end of the hall?" Wyatt was in a position to do her bidding, as the answers to questions seemed trivial and confusing in his lust filled mind.

Guinevere giggled at him, enthralled by his personality, and she hopped down the hall to his bedroom, flicking on the light. Wyatt, for a long moment didn't move, then shaking his head, followed her into his room. She was standing at the foot of his bed, looking at the only framed thing in his entire home. The empty beer bottle was on his nightstand.

"When did you get that?" Guinevere asked him, smiling happily at the paper beneath the glass in the frame, her eyes looking slightly damp.

"A long, long time ago."

"Just before my father died, actually."

"I got it the day I learned how to be me..."

"If it wasn't for that..."

Wyatt pointed.

"...and those words, I wouldn't be who I am today."

Wyatt couldn't help but smile as she touched her nose, memory all over her face.

"Like I said, I know you, I know who you are."

"How did he die, your father?" She had stopped touching her nose, and was hugging herself as she asked.

"Aneurism... Yours?" Wyatt had a slight, sad look at the thought.

"Same, that's why I'm studying neurology." She was smiling at him, every emotion he had had so far was right on his face. He was honest, easily read, full of intelligence, as he stood in silence, still staring at the frame.

"You should take your shirt off now," she said to him, as soon as he turned to look at her again.

"Just like that, lover?" Wyatt asked, already following the command.

"Just like that, Wyatt, just like that," Guinevere said to him as his shirt came off. When it was over his head, but still on his arms, she slid herself against his body, kissing from his chest up to his neck where she began to nibble. His shirt tied, buckled her to his body for a moment.

Wyatt threw his shirt into the hamper as she began unbuttoning his pants, and unbuckling Guinevere. When he looked back to her, she kissed him on the cheek. Wyatt turned it into a full on kiss though, reaching for, and unhooking, her bra. Slowly, painfully slow, she reached into his boxers, past his unhooked pants, stroking his camshaft from mount to lobe.

As great as this was, Wyatt wanted more. He reached down, gripping a perfect, firm, freckled cheek in each hand; Wyatt effortlessly lifted her into his arms; he drove towards the bed; Guinevere, the passenger for the trip. They never broke their kiss, tongues lovingly exploring each other's mouths as he set her onto the bed. Finally stepping back he looked down at her softly tanned, spotted skin as she threw her bra onto the floor.

The Appaloosa flesh on her body was better than he pictured each time a piece of fabric left. They were more round than he imagined, her breast, with small, perfect nipples the same color tone as her freckles. The endless freckles were slightly darker than her skin. She was slowly rubbing her slit through her panties as she watched him finish his undressing; he was watching her as they did so.

"I don' remember if I said this yet, but you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen..." Wyatt felt like he had to say something. After he said what he meant, his mind let him relax. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as she beamed a smile at him, relishing in the compliment and eye-fucking his tattoos.