Toy Soldier Pt. 02

I food shopped in the morning, ran a bunch of long neglected errands then took Bruno for his walk. I was obsessing on the constant video looping though my brain as I was crossing the street, making sure Bruno didn't dine on the fresh squirrel road-kill — her body, her desire, her inexhaustible need, her insatiable demands ... that dog and her incessant need to call the damn thing when it occurred to me that that constant, highly irritating attention ... that attention could be for me, I could be that dog, I could be having my back and belly rubbed, my ears scratched, I could be the object of her constant adoration, her constant obsession, I could have it all — how old was it? 10 maybe. How long could it last? I looked at my watch. She would be there now, if I hurried I could catch her ... Bruno had a hard time keeping up but he knew the way and knew where the treats were on the second aisle of the store on the way, a variety of treats — all fat saturated. We made it to the park; she would be there, in the midst of the small throng ... and she was, she emerged like Bo Derrick on a beach walking with Shilly slow-motion towards me, only I existed, her eyes aglow, her mouth a-grin, her dog agog with the familiar sight of the treat bag and I was asking myself the same two questions that had plagued me since I last left her: is there anything there? Does there need to be?

Murph helped us to complete the conversion of the solarium to her studio, arranging and re-arranging at her command, a command made more authoritative with her audacity at wearing her negligee as she gave her orders, an attire totally lost on Murph who was counting the minutes until he could get back to his tracks.

But it wasn't lost on me. This mattered. This was her space. This was serious like everything she does is serious, there is nothing flighty about this girl, nothing whimsical, nothing fun or funny. It isn't that she is deadly serious, it's more that she is supremely focussed, able to tune out everything extraneous to her thoughts.

Me among them. But no. Me and my big breasts and fat ass have a staying power in her mind that surprises me and it seemed legit, her need for them hadn't abated a bit in the eight days she has been here, long enough for me to doff the bandage and become one with my art.

I am, I am fast discovering, a now branded body she vitally needs, sort of a large ungainly battery to charge and re-charge her. She does it by constant touch, not groping, touching nothing in particular just me, my arm, back, hip, anything, she seems happiest when she is less than an arm length away from me, a toddler needing an apron.

In bed it is different, there, her face and lips are on my breasts, that is the connection, not frantic sucking, just contact, primordial like it's written into her DNA. We don't talk about it, don't talk about anything personal, we are discovering each other ... we are folding ourselves into each other's lives, and in the process creating a life of our own.

I don't think she's an acrophobia, but it's close. She doesn't like to go out, she will but she doesn't ever want to — the supreme irony: a woman put together for all to admire doesn't like to be admired, doesn't even like it from me so I've given up reporting on her beauty, now I just report on my love, that soothes her, calms her down, the more I possess her, the more normal she becomes.

Domestically we are a fit. We share the cooking and the cleaning, I insist she does the shopping with me, she obliges showing some effort to keep me happy.

And I buy her things, constantly, it's what I now do at lunch, browse stores wondering how to please her.

No one at work knows anything about us, we deliberately stay apart during her remaining days there, only two weeks then she's free ... well, Murph knows, or I think he does, you never know what he knows or what he forgets. The train scene is coming together nicely although, really, he's only interested in track and train.

Before Tosh, I always had to have a story going in my head, it's the only thing that kept me interested in my day. This one was inspired by Tosha, I want to think through the concept of holding a relationship together with money, like I'm doing with her. Can it work? For how long?

Matt Stoller is a 42 year old member of the Dark State cubicles; he's been with the company longer than anyone. He's married with three kids or was until two years ago when his wife went back to Hawaii where he had met her, with their kids who couldn't wait to get on the plane.

Matt's recovery period lasted all of two weeks when he met a 22 year old cocktail waitress while drowning his sorrows. Matt closed the place and was leaving when the waitress who just happened to be walking out the door with him looked around for a cab. "Can I give you a lift?"

"You're too drunk to drive."

"Good point ... I'll give you a hundred to drive me home, another hundred if you'll come in with me."

"Two hundred."

"Two it is."

She broke the silence after we got going. "Would you have driven with all you've had to drink? I hope not."

"So do I."

"That's like a death wish."

"And I matter to you?"

"I was thinking of the other people on the road."

"Be nice to me ... you strike me like the kind of person where niceness comes naturally."

"I hate drunk driving."

"Check me out, I'm over here ... in the passenger seat. Do you trust me? The reason why I'm asking is because I don't have much money left. We could try and find an ATM ... or I could bring it to you tomorrow."

She looked over at me. "That'll work. Nice house."

"Empty house. Divorced."

I was getting out of the car when she told me to hang on, fished out her phone, reported the address she asked me for, said to whomever that she would see them tomorrow then got out and followed me into the house.

"I've been on my feet all day, I'd love a bath and I'm thinking you'd love me to have one."

"A glass of wine with it?"

I showed her the bathroom, went and got the wine, waited for the water to run for awhile and for her to get in.

"Your wine," I said at the doorway, "I won't look."

"Why not you've paid for me."

I went and got a beer I didn't need, came back and sat on the toilet.

She was stretched out, relaxing. "I like sex; I haven't had much of it."

"Anything you'd particularly like to do?" It was a dumb thing to say, I was a bit loaded.

"Suck, does that make me a tramp?"

"It makes you popular."

She laughed. "I've never been that." She looked up at me. She isn't pretty, isn't cute but she's close to both with big dark eyes, dark hair, a slightly pinched face which makes her a bit sultry-looking.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"You asked me what I wanted."

"You want me to come in?"

"Sit here." She tapped the edge of the tub. "I'm not the best at this, not much practise."

I was quickly dealing with my clothes, obviously showing my excitement. When I stepped into the bath and sat down where she indicated I snickered, "Take your time."

I got this from my wife about three times in the 13 years we were together. She wasn't at all into it or into me for that matter, we had sex rarely and that was fine by both of us. She was busy, I'll give her that, three kids and a job, a better job than mine, but we both knew after a month together it wasn't a fit and we weren't going to last, the only question was when would it be over?

I'm no aficionado but she was right, she wasn't very good at it, I could tell she was experimenting. Still, even with the booze it was working, "If I cum it might be all over for me, keep that in mind."

"What and miss out on this body, don't you dare, that would be worse than drunk driving."

I was liking her ... yes, I was paying for it but she was making it feel like I wasn't. I gently pushed her head away and she collapsed back into the water going under while breathing out like she had been on the school swim team. I reckoned she was about 22, maybe 5 to 8 pounds over-weight and destined for early obesity.

"What's your name," I asked when she surfaced.

"Ginny, hand me a towel."

"Matt," I said, handing her one. "I can get you a housecoat."

She nodded, "OK."

I was in the living room when she came out wondering how I was going to handle this, a short romp then a cab, probably but she did say to whomever she called that she would seem them tomorrow so ...

She was towelling her hair when she came in wrapped in terrycloth. "I'm kind of excited. I haven't had sex in months."

"Why not?" I filled her glass which I had brought out with me.

"Good question. Work, I guess; competition ... I'm a little down in the desirability curve; have never had a steady boyfriend and I don't do this — never been much of a one-nighter, especially with guys drinking alone, not the most sexually alluring look."

"I had a crash, needed time to muse in an unfamiliar place ... needed the booze to get me out of myself for a different perspective."

"Want to talk about it?" She accepted the glass and sipped, waiting for my answer.

I did. "Mid-life crisis combined with the reality that I am working 9 hours a day just for this," I waved indicating my environment. "Doesn't compute."

"How about the wife and kids?"

"Clean break. She's with a childhood sweetheart in Maui, a gazzilionnaire. The kids were always her's ... I mean they were mine too but her genes were a lot stronger than mine, they are carbon copies of her, nothing about me at all and now 4 thousand miles away ... so ..."

"So, what?"

"That's what I was trying to think through, my options ... I'm still relatively young ... 42, what's up for the next stage in my life, a question you're probably asking yourself, too."

"No, the question I was asking myself was when are you going to take this robe off me, it can't be helping my prospects."

My wife was a deaf-mute in bed, this little item was the exact opposite, which fascinated me.

The expectation was almost funny and written all over her face until l slipped off the robe and brought my lips to her's, my hand to her breast and the moaning started — there was nothing phoney about it, it was all expression, she wanted it, she couldn't help herself, she gave into it ... not like the blow-job where she concentrated, experimented, evaluated, corrected, no, with this she immediately succumbed, her face taking on a frantic look that I might stop, that I might somehow fail, maybe flee.

Another thing, she seemed completely detached from her body. The frantic face and the primordial moans were all energy where her body was just inert, the hardware disconnected from the software — an offered body to do as I wanted, her sounds cheering me on.

It was fabulous, really, the best time I've ever had in a bed, the lips were hungry, the pussy flowing, the hands flopped to the sides in take-me surrender.

In little more than half an hour she was entirely fucked-over, that's the way it looked, dazed, reddened, sweaty, exhausted, she made me feel like a porn star which, for some reason, made me want to double down.

I flopped her over, pulled her up to kneeling, ate her again and drove her out of her mind by licking and tongue stabbing her asshole, something I've never done before and ended with my fingers inducing a flood from her that shocked us both and drenched the sheets.

"Holy, fuck," she said — she had grappled onto me so tight for so long she exhausted herself and fell back in what felt like a swamp.

I awoke before her, amazed that but for a dry mouth I had little to no hang-over. I looked at the playing field. Nice, fatty breasts, interesting nipples. A flabby midsection so I could only see a little hair. Legs a little heavy but shapely, too. We hadn't actually had penetrating sex yet and I needed it.

I pulled at her leg, it cooperated, I got between them, she wasn't yet awake, I touched the opening then went, "psssst," loud enough to get her attention. Her eyes opened, slowly, uncertainly, confusingly. I stabbed her a little letting her know where I was. "Can I?"

That face again, the instant expectation, "Oh, God, yes."

It's only six inches or whatever, but my trip in felt like a journey into a new world. I wanted to pin this woman to my bed and never let her go and with her joyous surrender, it sounded like, wet sheets and all, that's what she wanted too.

Her hair was sticking to her forehead, her eyes watered, there was snot in her left nostril, her mouth was agape ... and she had barely moved, only straining to feel every thrust but the orgasms had made a wreck of her, had beaten her up inside and created the wreckage outside.

She lay there dishevelled, stunned, spent, and she really hadn't done anything but lay there. She made it feel like it was me, but it wasn't, it was all her, she loves sex, the girl absolutely adores sex.

Time to get going, kick it into gear. I was facing the day like I always do, same routine only half-way through I realized she didn't have the same ambition. She was still in bed, on her side, her eyes were open but that was the only sign of life.

"Obviously I can't charge you for this ... too bad, I could really use the money."

I laughed. "There's always tonight."

She quickly looked up at me. "Really?" My wife was never excited about anything, this girl ...

I had been thinking about it in the shower, soaping my erection. "You could take a cab here after work."

"If you'll pay for my cab home, I'll call us square."

I was dressing, she wasn't.

She grinned. "I'll clean the sheets, tidy the place up a bit ... if you trust me here alone."

"Bring a bag to work, have some things here, toothbrush, whatever." It was audacious but that's the way I was feeling.

I was in a hurry, I didn't know if she would, I thought about it all day.

"Hi," she grinned, her face as enthusiastic as the best moments of last night and his morning.

The expectations, the glorious expectations had been answered. "Thanks for cleaning up. The place is spotless." There was even a chocolate on my pillow. I made to take he bag from her hand, she held on tight.

"I should shower."

"No, after." She gave up the bag, followed me into the bedroom and when I faced her she came into my arms and we fell on the bed together.

You can talk yourself into anything but you need a few reality checks along the way. This was going to be my first. I lifted up her skirt and brought my hand up the inside of her leg. Before I even got to her pussy I knew she passed the first one. She was wet, even the inside of her leg.

"That's why I want to shower."

I sat on the toilet like last time.

She is struggling, two jobs, barely pays the rent, no chance of the nursing school she longs for. None. Hopeless.

I had the answer: you move in with me, my antidote to my mid-life crisis. I pay your way through nursing school.

She went under the water like last time, stayed under longer but this time she shot up to a sitting position. "Do you mean it?" No sputtering, nothing like that: she had been a swimmer.

I was calm in my panic. Did I actually say that, it had crossed my mind during the day but only fleetingly. "I think so but I haven't orgasmed yet."

She flopped out of the bath like a seal and was on my cock with unalloyed excitement, the girl is genuine. I had been building all day and resisted reliving myself at the office. I warned her, she stuck with it and ultimately grinned her approval, opening her mouth to show the evidence.

I towelled her off astonished by an intimacy so easily gained, I never towelled my wife, not once.

It was familiar now, the look, the noises, the total surrender and the omnipresent excitement that she couldn't believe this was happening to her, basically, that her body was being ravaged by an old dude who was going to pay for her education.

But it was more than that. She was making the same leap of faith I was, the bag proved that, the desire — she was drawn to me, that had to be a part of this.

I followed her into the bedroom inspecting her dimpled ass. Her excitement seemed to be overwhelming her. "This is going to be our room? I can use that dresser?"

When is the last time I had any positive excitement in my life? Maybe never. And why is it so much fun ravishing a sacrifice? Really, when I dream of sex, it's always a 50-50 deal, two consenting adults going at it — it never bothers me that I didn't actually know who I am dreaming about, usually a person I picked from off the street who might fit into my imagination. But Ginny seems to be saying, do it, enjoy it, I sure do.

And she sure did, the fucking moans were ongoing music, constant biofeedback that seemed like a whip to a horse, they drove me on to be as deliriously transported as she is, the woman can almost immediately look so fucked-over you'd think she went 10 rounds, it's fascinating and fabulous, truly spectacular because she is just so unbelievably appreciative that I would be going to such trouble to bring her all this pleasure, a pleasure that simply stuns her. And knocks her almost immediately into dreamland.

She was still sleeping when I left for work, I just kissed her and left like she had already moved in which I hope she had — no one has ever dealt with a mid-life crisis better.

So, what was she doing? I asked myself that question all day. Had she in fact moved in? Was she making a nest? Had she quit her waitressing job like I told her to? Was she thinking of me — is this insane? I had taken down her measurements from her worn, almost tattered underwear and spent my lunch hour in a lingerie shop, startled by the prices but unable to stop myself ... how could I with the image of that body in my bed glowing with sexual satisfaction, limp after bringing me so much pleasure.

All day I resisted calling her, I didn't want my bubble to break so I was a bit of a wreck driving home, the moment I could. She's 20 years younger than me, out of shape, growing to fat, not all that bright, not at all intellectually my equal, not at all intellectually stimulating but ... was it just sex, and not normal sex so much as my sex on her, she's so lost in it she barely responds? Well, I don't want to live alone, I know that and I know there's no one else, so ... and I like her, she seems perfectly natural and appreciative and excited about what I might be able to give her.

There were a few boxes and two suitcases in the hallway and then she was there, in an apron, with a worried look. "I didn't unpack them I wanted to make sure you were serious."

How could this be serious? I held up the bag. "I hoped you would be here, I bought you a present."

The surprise excitement was everything I could've hoped for ... she took the few paces between us and positively snatched the bag out of my hand and when she looked inside she yelped, jumping up and down. "I've always wanted this stuff," she turned and positively ran to the bedroom.

She thinks she's gorgeous, that was clear, it warmed my heart.

"I got them so I could take them off you."

"I hope so, these things make me horny just looking at them."

She has a new sound, laughter peels from her like church bells as I kissed all over her new bra and panties which were both still on when she was giving her distinctive orgasm sounds. The laughter was greatest when I aim at her new bra and unloaded what had been building all day.

I was getting up to take a shower when she pulled me down, "no, no, no, no, no ... get serious. I'll get you a beer. The cum splattered bra sprang off the bed and was back in seconds, the beer can sweating, obviously chilled for the occasion, cold enough to watch her nipples grow at the touch and a laughing flinch when I put the can between her legs.

You can't love somebody in what amounts to 24 hours, but you can love what they do to you, how they make you feel and you can love the prospects: it felt like it could last. How long? No idea. It was the sex, for sure but when she was just standing there in the apron I could feel her goodness, her cheerfulness, her enthusiasm, she felt like a spotlight and I was under it.