The 8x10 of Darcy O'Dell Ch. 01

Soon we forgot about Steven and Francine. It was like having a porno film playing in the background. At first that's what gets you aroused; but once you're into fucking each other, you don't notice it anymore. We kept it quiet, though.

We had a slow, sensuous fuck. Darcy was smiling and grinding on me; I was squeezing and fondling her boobs. I thought about the countless times I'd stroked myself in that very bed, in the darkness, and imagined the sights and sounds and sensations I was actually feeling right then.

You know what made it real for me, other than the obvious? The sense of smell—that's what you can't conjure up when you're alone. Her unique aroma: her sweat, her hair, her pussy, the reinvigoration of her perfume as she became aroused again. As real as it gets.

Darcy leaned over and cooed in my ear. "You know what I'd like. I want you on top of me. If you've got any cum left, pour it in me. That's how I'd like to finish up tonight. I've got an I.U.D., so don't worry about knocking me up."

My first missionary sex with Darcy, tender and sublime. The way she moaned quietly, wrapping her arms around me, holding me tightly. Thrusting her pelvis up to meet mine as my cock plunged into her warm pussy. Her legs around my waist, pulling me close to her on each stroke. I wanted to penetrate her, give her every inch.

"Grab your knees, Darcy. I want to be deeper in you."

She pulled her knees back toward her shoulders. "Oh my god! Thatis deep!"

I pounded her until she whispered that she was close to coming. She was using her "library voice" to call my name and punctuate every thrust with a soft grunt. I was a few seconds ahead of her.

"Darcy, I'm going to come in you now. Are you ready?"

"Oh, Jeff, please. Come in my wet pussy. I want it. Let's do it together. Ah, I can feel your cock swelling up in me. Oh, god! All hot... there it is. Hot in me... oh, I'm gonna come, too. Here I go... both of us... now!"

A swirling, surging, warm bliss washed over me as her kitty squeezed a second load from my prick.

"Mark me with your cum, Jeff," she gasped. "Make me yours. I can feel you spurting all up inside me. Oh, god, that's... mmm, so hard... I'm coming so hard... aah!" Her eyes were barely open as she moaned, "I'm yours now, baby, all yours."

Those things she'd said to me just then! To mark her, make her mine, claim her body by spilling my cum deep inside her. I felt like an animal on top of her, causing her to squirm wildly with pleasure, draining my seed into her pussy. My own orgasm had an unexpected final surge as I savored the taking of Darcy O'Dell—in my bed, for real. Taking her from that fool Steven in the next room. I had to use my library voice as well.

I kept my cock in her, slowing it down. The rush from our coupling spread to every part of my body. We took deep breaths as we settled into a series of tender kisses. The commotion had stilled in the next room.

Darcy whispered to me, "Did our parents have to keep quiet like this? That wasn't easy!"

The post-coital glow lasted a long time. We touched and kissed and caressed like the first-time lovers that we were.

"What do you say we call it a night, Darcy? We can pick back up on this tomorrow morning." I eased my cock from her pussy with great reluctance.

"Tomorrow morning? I thought we were all going to brunch together," she joked.

"He's going to have to find out at some point. I'm not sure if Francine wants to see an old girlfriend of his padding around the apartment in just a t-shirt. I think this could be the last time she comes over here."

"Is that a bad thing? OK, I'll wear my lingerie set. It's more modest than the t-shirt. All the naughty bits are covered. Not much different than seeing me in a bikini."

Even with Darcy O'Dell's actual naked body pressed against me, it was the thought of her prancing around in her La Perla bra and panties that was making me hard again.

PART 8: The Darcy Years (1983 -?)

Darcy and I worked around the Steven problem as best we could. I never saw Francine over there again. When he decided to move in with her, Darcy and I got a furnished one-bedroom apartment. The only thing I kept was the student desk. For both of us, it was our first experience having a sex partner living under the same roof.

Oh, those years were intense. We fucked twice a day, sometimes adding a "nooner" if our lunch breaks allowed it. We got alot of mileage from the principal/naughty schoolgirl role playing. She even got a real school uniform: blazer, oxford blouse, necktie, plaid skirt, knee socks, and penny loafers. I wore a suit and tie while I wielded a soft paddle. I usually felt a little weird about smacking her bare ass, but that quickly faded once I saw how crazy turned-on she got.

A year later we moved to a two-bedroom place. Her retail sales career was taking off, and she needed more room for her clothes. I couldn't think of a better reason to do it.

* * *

It wasn't long after we celebrated our fourth anniversary living together when I sensed something was wrong. I'll spare you the details, but it seemed like her personality changed. Maybe mine did, too. Were there underlying personal flaws that were purposefully hidden by each of us, ones that had to rear their heads eventually? Problems that were there all along but masked by the heady blossom of love?

Maybe it was new dysfunctions that arose from the mix of two people living together. Or maybe we were too young to be settling down at that age.

All the foul emotions that took over our lives: jealousy, resentment, suspicion, rage—stirred together with a toxic mix of sarcasm, insults, and outright meanness. We cried oceans of tears. Oh, but the make-up sex was atomic! Sometimes that was the only redeeming thing I could hope for from our incessant battles.

Can we really ever know who or what poisoned the well? I became obsessed with my throwaway quip about penciling her in for only five years that first night we fucked. Could a person's brain be wired in a way that something trivial like that festered into an incurable cancer on the relationship years later? I went over it countless times in my mind. If she had been the one making the joke, I'm 100% certain I would have forgotten about it by the next morning.

It was a career opportunity for her that finally pulled the plug. I was at the student desk paying bills when she came over and sat on the fold-down seat. She turned to me and said we needed to talk.

"I've been offered a job as a buyer at Marshall Field's. I've decided to take it."

"In Chicago?"

"As Chicago as it gets. I'll be moving before the end of the month."

I felt a sickening, scorching malaise enter my body. I was speechless as I listened to her.

"You know the buyout of Sanger-Harris has created an immense amount of job uncertainty for me. I don't want to get blindsided by layoffs I know are coming. My dad in Evanston needs help with my mother. Connie has started a family here so she's not going to be able to do much. And I don't want my sister Lizzie back there getting stuck with the entire burden."

I was in a stupor.

"I can pay you my half of the rent for the next two months. That's the least I can do."

I wanted to say she didn't have to, but I couldn't get the words out.

"Jeff, the only way we're ever going to have a chance of being together in the future is for us to be apart now."

I knew she was right. At least the fighting would stop.

* * *

The next two weeks I went to work and came home to Darcy packing up her stuff. It was almost entirely clothes: dresses, shoes, handbags, accessories. I was still enchanted by whatever she wore every day. She had unique, effortless taste in clothing. I guess Marshall Field's thought so, too.

I was in a nasty, dull fog the whole time. Was that what it feels like when they lock you up in the mental hospital and give you too many meds? The only time I snapped out of it was the night before her flight to Chicago. She walked up to me while I was at the student desk working on my taxes.

"Jeff, I want us to have hot, make-up sex tonight. But can we skip the argument?"

I swept the papers off the desk and had her there one more time. No role playing. Just the raw, emotional coupling of two people who loved each other so much they couldn't stay together any more.

Her plane left very early the next morning. She woke me up to say goodbye and kissed me one last time. Her scent stayed in our bedroom after I heard the front door close. It would be gone soon, too.

PART 9: Life after Darcy (1991)

Valentine's Day, three years later. The worst day of the year when you're alone. You can't escape it. I had renewed sympathy for other religions being inundated with all the Christmas hoopla every December.

My job was going well. I had completed an important annual project that day and was craving some sort of release, but everyone else on my team had someone to go home to.

Our official department celebration was the next night, on Friday: a fancy cocktail party at company headquarters, spouses and partners invited. I thought about calling an escort service so I wouldn't have to go stag. I had no idea how much a few hours of companionship would cost. I wondered if any of those professional women failed to get a booking for Valentine's. That would be sad.

During the project I had gotten so used to eating a late dinner it wasn't a problem to wait and slip into a fairly nice restaurant near closing time. I wouldn't have to see too many happy couples clinking champagne glasses and kissing at the table.

I caught a break. Twenty minutes to closing and only a few customers left. I ordered quickly; I didn't want to be the bane of the tired restaurant staff yearning to get home. My waitress placed the check on the table when she brought my food, as I had requested.

"Sir, I'm off now. The other girl will handle your bill when you're ready." She nodded toward a brunette across the way that was busy toting up transactions at a terminal.

Sharon, my waitress, was very attractive. I wondered if she was rushing home to sprinkle rose petals over her marital bed. Her wedding ring kept me from humiliating myself by asking what she was doing after work. I didn't care if the ring was real or a ploy to fend off lecherous customers like me.

I think I was only one left in the dining room. I ate quickly and set down some cash to pay the bill.

I stared out the window, trying to clear my mind of Darcy. The memories of our past Valentine's Days spent in sweet debauchery still haunted me. We always tried to come up with a role playing scenario each year that we hadn't tried before: flight attendant/passenger, housewife/plumber—you get the drift. A female voice snapped me out of my self-pity—and growing arousal.

"I'll get this for you right away, Sir." I saw her reflection in the window glass but didn't turn around.

Moments later she returned with the change. I had meant to tell her to keep it as a tip.

"Here's your change, Sir. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

"Thanks." I kept my gaze out the window in case she didn't have a wedding ring.

"You see something out there?" she asked pleasantly, sliding into the booth—right across from me! I whipped my head around to confront this gross breach of waiter/customer boundaries.

The brunette was much plainer than Sharon, no wedding ring. She did have interesting streaks of blond and red in her hair which was pinned up in a messy chignon. Simple jewelry and makeup. I quickly looked around the restaurant to see if this was some kind of reality-show prank. Her silent smile kept me grasping for something to settle the social vertigo that was spinning in my head.

I glanced at her name tag: Melodie.

"Mink?!"

"Hi, Jeff. Sorry to see you alone tonight. That can't be good for the soul."

Relief and disbelief churned inside of me. I barely recognized her. She was more feminine and put together than I'd ever seen.

"Do you have time to talk? Let me close out the register, and I can meet you in the bar. It's open for another two hours." She stood up and pointed in that direction. "I'll give you a hug when I get over there."

I made my way to the lounge and selected a small table in the corner. A waitress glided over and set down two cocktail napkins.

"Melodie asked me to bring whatever you want. On the house. She'll be here shortly."

My cocktail was on the table in less than a minute. Mink eventually appeared from the kitchen door and ordered a drink from the servers' station. She had changed out of her unisex waiter's garb into an alluring red dress and surprisingly high heels. Her hair was unpinned and brushed out, cascading down to her shoulders.

She set down her drink and gave me the promised hug. Her heels put her waist almost at my level. I felt her subtly press up against me down below. My cock had already stiffened as she walked over.

"Feels like you're glad to see me, Jeff." She winked and sat down. "Who wants to go first?"

I let her take the lead.

"You don't know how lucky we are to cross paths like this. It's my last week here. I got a promotion at work, at my day job. So I don't need to moonlight anymore, and I won't have the time anyway."

"What's your day job?"

"Assistant art director atCity magazine. Promoted from senior graphic designer."

I realized it had been over ten years since I last saw Mink. That day at Belmont when she gave me Valerie's phone number. She seemed dirt poor back then. There must have been some financial windfall to get money for college.

"My mother passed away a few years after I last saw you. It was just the two of us growing up. I wasn't expecting a dime from her, but she had saved up a lot more than I thought. Bless her heart—she wore old, tattered clothes and never treated herself to anything. She did it all for me."

I saw a tear roll down her cheek. I offered my sincerest condolences—and my handkerchief. Mink thanked me and continued her story.

"She left me just enough money to make art school a possibility instead of a foolish dream. But I needed to work part time and get some financial aid. I got my B.F.A. degree at the University of North Texas four years ago. In Communication Design.

"It was affordable, and I didn't have to leave town. I was also accepted at School of the Art Institute of Chicago, but that was completely out of reach financially. And I would have been cold and lonely in a town like that.

"And something else. You told me if I ever went to art school I should take some business electives. I was skeptical, but I did like you said. And my new boss said that's why I got chosen for the promotion over the other candidates. I understand budgets and spending and how what we do in the art department fits in with the business side of the magazine."

I was flattered. You never give someone career advice expecting to hear later that it helped.

"My internship was working with the group that puts together all the catalogs for a big department store chain: Foley's. They were very eager to have me come on full time. I learned so much there. It was pretty traditional, but they were actually receptive to some of my wilder ideas.

"While I was there, I started doing freelance work on the side for theObserver, the underground newspaper. My boss ended up taking a job withCity magazine, and she brought me on as a junior designer."

I congratulated Mink on her accomplishments. I knew she had talent that first night I saw the fashion drawings in her apartment.

"You know what? Let's go back to that night. I hid a lot from you because I was embarrassed by who I was. I want to get all of that out now.

"Do you know how Steven met me? I was a fry cook at Burger King, but it was my first day on the register. I was so timid and uncomfortable in my own body that I had refused several opportunities to move out front, away from the kitchen. That day the manager had forced me to take orders since several co-workers were out. I could barely push the buttons on the register. My hands were shaking, and I was on the brink of crying.

"Then Steven and Tim walked in. Steven leaned over and asked if I was new at the job. That I looked nervous. He said they weren't in a hurry and to take my time. He was very sweet and understanding. Gosh, he's a smooth one.

"Steven came back to the counter after he finished eating. He asked when I was getting off. He returned later to meet me after work. He sure knew how to chat up a fast food cashier.

"I'm not sure why he did it, but I didn't care. He was the cutest guy that had ever come onto me—by far. Boys like Steven don't ask out girls like me.

"Maybe he bet Tim that he could get me in bed before the weekend was out. Heck, I would have done him that day—right there in the employee break room. Even though I knew I meant nothing to him, it gave my self-esteem quite a boost—for a while anyway. "I was very naïve sexually back then. Steven was patient. He taught me a lot."

Mink leaned over and ran her fingers over my thigh and lowered her voice. "Actually, Jeff,you got the payoff from my time at Steven's 'intercourse boot camp.' And youdefinitely took me to the next level.

"I learned to be confident about my body from you. Remember that first night? You went down on me before fucking me. You made sure I was taken care of first."

We both took much-needed sips of our drinks during this pause in her story. She continued in a whisper.

"You were the only one who worshipped my flat chest like I was aPenthouse centerfold. I liked to be sucked, and licked, and pinched there like any other woman. But you wouldn't believe how many guys avoid that area. They won't even touch me there, like it was the middle of my back or something. You even liked to shoot your load on my tits. That really got me hot. I think I came almost every time you did it."

That was a lot more sex talk than I was planning on for that evening. I wondered if she was hinting about visiting the "other planet" later that night.

"So in my alternate career path I've made it from hamburger chain cook all the way to upscale steakhouse waitress. Never thought I had what it takes looks-wise to land a job like this. I have to thank Valerie, too. You remember her from Belmont? She was always telling me that putting on a dress and a little makeup wouldn't kill me."

She laughed but turned serious again. "You probably wondered why I was so meek when I hung out at Belmont. Or why I even came over there. It wasn't much fun seeing Steven with his numerous girlfriends. Or his polite indifference to me.

"I only had a high school education. I never imagined I would ever sit in a classroom again once I picked up that diploma. I felt inferior to all of you guys. You were the ones going to college. But that was the only way I knew how to get more education: hang out with people who were.

"I wanted to be around people who knew more than I did. People who cared enough to explore beyond their daily life. Who were concerned about what's going on around the country and the world. Who were trying to change things. Ones who travelled and had stories to tell. I wasn't going to get that standing over a deep fryer or mopping floors.

"I'm glad I had enough courage to come after you that night. That was really hard for me. I had a hunch you were different from the others. You had always been kind to me."

"So what's the next step for you, Mink?"

"I know this is a stretch, but I'd like to eventually be an art director at a fashion magazine. Maybe in New York. My art school adviser still has contacts there. She worked atHarper's Bazaar for a long time. She thinks I've got the potential. It's a 'pretty girl' business, but that's not going to stop me from trying.