5. Five
Five
Agatha
T he coffee shop door shut with a loud click, mocking my hasty retreat. Heat crawled up my neck and burned into my cheeks. I didn't dare look back; I couldn't face another second of that barista's smirk or the snickers from the corner table.
"Stupid, just stupid," I muttered under my breath, scolding myself for every botched joke, each awkward silence. My mind was a relentless replay, all the cringe-worthy moments on loop.
I picked up the pace, shoes slapping a frantic rhythm against the pavement. The city sounds blurred into a background hum, nothing but white noise to the embarrassment in my head.
It could've been smooth, Agatha. Could've kept it cool. But noooo, you had to go and be weird. Sure, he said he wanted to see you again, but does he actually?
My apartment building loomed ahead, swanky and too perfect, contrasting the mess I felt inside. I fumbled for my keys and nearly dropped them twice before I managed to get the door open.
"Home sweet home." The words fell flat in the empty hallway as the door clicked shut behind me. Silence greeted me, a welcome reprieve from the whispers trailing out of the coffee shop.
Shake it off. Just... shake it off. I tried to ditch the embarrassment, but it wasn't going anywhere, not yet. Not until I could sink into my couch and let the peace of my place wash over me, make me forget how utterly uncool I'd been just minutes ago.
My fingers pinched the bridge of my nose, squeezing out the frustration. The longing, too, though that, was harder to shake. Arnold's shy smile lingered in my mind, his awkward charm weaving through my thoughts. He was super tall; it felt like he was a skyscraper. Lanky, too, but in the best of ways. Tall and skinny usually meant men had a real meat slinger in there. But it was his eyes. The kindness behind the bright blue made me lose my mind. He'd flick his shaggy blonde hair to hide the red that flushed over his cheeks, but I saw his vulnerability. And I wanted to live in it. Cherish it.
A buzz from my phone startled me, dragging me back to real life. Work never sleeps, and neither did my clients. Squinting at the screen, I read the incoming message, feeling the switch inside me flick. Agatha needed to step back; Angel had a job to do.
"Let's get this over with." I tapped out a quick reply, confirming the session. My voice would soon weave fantasies for someone else, but my brain... Arnold was still there, renting space free of charge.
"Focus, Angel," I scolded myself, rolling my shoulders to shed the lingering discomfort from earlier. It's time to turn on the charm and drown out the doubts with sultry whispers and breathy promises. Arnold could wait—right now, someone else needed me to be their fantasy.
I sank into my cozy blanket, a sliver of moonlight peeking through the blinds. A deep breath in, the crisp scent of jasmine from the candles setting the stage. I flicked my phone to the speaker, the dial tone humming its prelude.
"Angel," he growled as the line clicked. "I've been excited for you."
He spilled his desires into my ear, each one a little secret I stored away, ready to use. My tongue danced over every syllable, painting pictures with promises and whispered wants.
"Tell me more," I coaxed, my hand tracing idle patterns on the armrest. I was Angel, mistress of illusion, queen of the unseen caress. But my mind, traitorous thing, it wandered. I wanted to be plowed like the snow in a blizzard by the nerd who sat across from me at the cafe.
Arnold's face flickered behind my eyelids, a ghostly visage that tugged at something deeper. His nervous laugh, the way he fumbled with his cup—he clung to my thoughts, stubborn as a weed.
"Are you still there, baby girl?" The voice from the phone jerked me back.
"Always here," I cringed. Baby girl is... bleh. Pass. Call me Mother of Yummy Cummies. Professional gaper of the purple starfish. Destroyer of bussies. Literally anything but a baby girl. "Just savoring your words."
I let out a soft moan, feigned yet convincing, a trick of the trade. But my chest tightened, and my meat swatch twitched, wishing it was my nerd in plaid shirts talking in my ear.
"Mmm, oh God, baby girl, you're amazing," he sighed, his pleasure a distant echo. He must have heard girls like being called baby girl. His overuse is weird.
"Am I?" A whisper for him, a question for myself.
The fappening on the other end answered for me. I groaned like a mountain lion in heat, waiting for the inevitable, "I'm finished."
It didn't come soon enough. With awkward goodbyes, we hung up.
I stared at my phone, Arnold's name bright on the screen. I chewed on my bottom lip, a nervous habit that never did any favors for my lipstick. Arnold's laughter from earlier echoed in my mind. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
"Hey," I started, then backspaced. Too casual. "I had a great time today. XOX A," I typed, then hesitated. Was it too eager? I hit send before I could second-guess myself again.
My chest tightened a coil of hope and anxiety winding together. I tossed the phone aside, not wanting to stare holes into it, but it buzzed almost immediately. I lunged for it, heart doing somersaults.
"Me too :)" was all Arnold's message said. But it was enough, wasn't it?
A grin split my face, warmth blooming in my chest. I bit back the urge to dance around the room. No need for anyone in the apartment building across the way to see that spectacle. Instead, I hugged a cushion to my stomach, letting out a squeal muffled by the plush fabric.
Play it calm, play it cool. But who was I kidding? Cool had left the building the moment I'd met Arnold.
"Would love to do it again sometime?" I texted back, each letter punctuated with a flutter in my belly.
"Definitely!" The reply came quickly, sending a jolt of excitement through me. Maybe this clumsy connection could turn into something real. A goofy giggle escaped me. Who'd have thought? A client turned meet-awkward.
"Maybe without the spilled coffee next time." I sent the message with a wry smile.
"Or maybe with. Adds character ;)" The wink face he added made my pulse race. I had a feeling there was an inner freak in there waiting to come out. I'd bring it out of him. I wonder what he'd do if I sat on his face and left a slug trail down it. He'd probably be into it.
"Maybe next time... your house?" I replied, my lip between my teeth as I sucked in a breath.
"Looking forward to it. Text me a date and time when you're ready." His message was simple.
I flopped back against the pillows, my body still thrumming with energy. My mind flitted from our texts to the memory of his shy smile and the softness in his eyes. This felt different. Real.
“Ummmm, let’s say next Saturday, 10 am?” My thumb hit send, and I waited with bated breath.
“Great. Let’s meet at DNF; we can walk to my place from there.”
I glanced at the clock. Time to wind down, to try and quiet the buzz under my skin. Showering sounded nice. I couldn't take it anymore—the itch, the burn, the crackling static of desire under my skin. I bolted to the bathroom and cranked the faucet. Steam billowed like a fog machine at a cheesy club. Stripped down in record time, I stepped into the shower, the spray hitting me like a squirting lush.
"Arnie..." The word slipped out as water sluiced over my curves. My hands roamed, slick and urgent. My fingers found the blooming meat butterfly between my thighs. It pulsed, hungry for touch.
Images of him swam behind my eyelids—those blue eyes clouded with something like hunger, his lanky form a question mark that begged answering. A shiver racked me. I traced the hard little nubbin, imagining it was him. He was learning, exploring, and fumbling his way to my pleasure.
My mind painted every awkward, adorable move he'd make, what his fingers would feel like, rough and unsure against my maidenhood, how his breath would hitch when I guided him. The unsure look he'd give as I'd grab his pecker and push it against the open gash, coaxing it inside like a turtle seeking its shell.
"Ah!" The sound echoed off the tile as cream poured from the tunnel between my legs. My knees went weak; my back hit the wall. Water and heat enveloped me as I chased the high. One hand braced against cold tile, the other a blur as I worked that little puckered peak into a mash of sensitive nerves.
"Please, please, please." Not sure if I was begging the image of him or my own body. Didn't matter. The wave crested, broke, and crashed through me. I saw stars. My legs gave, and I slid down to the shower floor, the water still raining down on me. My heart fluttered as the water washed my spunk down the drain.
That rush, that crazy high—it was all Arnold in my head. His clumsy charm, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Wondering if it would be this good in real life, I pushed off the floor and turned off the water with a squeak of the tap. The air hit me, cooler now, goosebumps rising on my skin.
I grabbed a towel, fluffed and white, from the rack and wrapped it around myself. My body still hummed with desire, as if one cunny session wasn't enough. Sighing, I wiped the fog off the mirror and looked at myself. I looked a mess, but the smile that inadvertently played on my lips was soft and joyful.
I tossed the wet fabric aside as I walked into my room, its fluffiness a brief comfort. Silk robe on, I dove into the sea of my bed, the day's weight lifting off my shoulders. The sheet whispered against my skin, cool and inviting.
My eyelids grew heavy, and sleep claimed me even as my body wanted one more round.