12. Baby, Call Me Anytime
TWELVE
baby, call me anytime
Wesley
Time flies and drags ass at the same time in the weeks following mine and Dahlia’s road trip to the Sinning Saint’s show. My mind is preoccupied with thoughts of big brown eyes and more often than I care to admit, it’s those eyes I picture when my hand is wrapped around my cock.
In my stale routine of working, eating, and sleeping, I find the time to draw a bit more.
I’m working on a more detailed piece tonight—a succubus straddling an unsuspecting cowboy.
The cowboy can only be seen from behind, wearing a black Stetson and a white tank top.
Astride him sits the succubus, pink tinged skin, round breasts hanging in the cowboy’s face, and soft, pillowy thighs bracketing his muscled ones.
The succubus’ face takes shape, but fades out right at her nose.
The only visible features are her fangs biting into lush lips and waving strands of hair falling over her shoulders.
Dark brown hair with bright blonde pieces.
The same look as the hair haunting my dreams as I imagine running my fingers through it, pulling it up to hold it out of the way for her.
I’m beyond hiding my affections in this sketch.
I won’t show it to her, or anyone, for that matter.
My feelings are loudly drawn on the page as I give life to my fantasy.
It would appear I’m down bad for my friend.
Shit, at this point I should illustrate the succubus tearing the cowboy’s head off to save him from the fate of unrequited love.
Maybe unrequited is too strong a word. I don’t think Dahlia feels nothing for me, but I don’t know she wants to feel more.
I would love to be deeply embedded in someone’s heart, as they are in mine—particularly Dahlia.
I could so easily love her. Fuck, I’m halfway there at this point and I’ve barely scratched the surface of who she is.
What would it be like to feed the love, nurture it, nurture Dahlia?
I would be so good to her. Like clockwork, my dick perks up thinking about Dahlia as if I’m conditioned to get hard at the mention of her name.
Avoiding my erection is useless, so I head to the shower to indulge like the piece of shit I am.
The steam curls around me, relaxing my stiff muscles as I lean into the hot water.
I drag my hand down to my rigid shaft, tightening my fist at the base, hand grazing the rough bristle of trimmed hair.
Conflict wages war in my head as I try to conjure up literally any other thought to get off to.
Finally, I give in. No one will be any the wiser I’m fucking my hand to thoughts of Dahlia, right? The guilt is strong, but my arousal wins out as I cup my balls in one hand and stroke myself faster. Visions of Dahlia dance through my mind, one in particular making me leak like a faucet.
In this fantasy, I’m bouncing her on my dick and her massive tits jump with each thrust. Imagining her tight, pink pussy swallowing my cock has me groaning out loud in pleasure.
How would she sound? Would she like how I spoke to her?
The rough words I’d love to say as I tell her what a pretty fucking slut she is.
My hand twists as I try to slow down, wanting to draw this out longer.
She would ride me, then turn around giving me a perfect view of her fat ass rippling with every pump into her.
Fffuuucck. I’m so far gone in my imagined lovemaking as I dream of palming her ass while I force her down on my hard cock.
Ecstasy shoots through my core and my final strokes give way to ropes of cum as I ride my orgasm through clenched teeth.
Shame washes over me at lack of self-control, so I quickly scrub myself clean and leave the shower.
Lying in bed, I realize Jasper hasn’t brought up the bills again.
I don’t know if it means I’m cut out of the information now or he’s ignoring the possibility of financial ruin.
In the late hour, there’s not much I can do to remedy that, so I scroll my phone attempting to rest my tired body.
My phone buzzes with several incoming texts back-to-back.
I grin because the only one blowing up my phone in that cadence is Dahlia.
A photo of a screaming bird precedes a barrage of texts.
Princess
WES WE HAVE STRUCK GOLD! I think I have an idea!!!! I have so much to say, let me voice memo it!!
I’m anticipating her voice memo, when the phone vibrates with an incoming call. Confused, I accept the call when Dahlia’s beautiful face appears on screen, but she’s not looking at the camera and she’s yapping away.
“—and then we could apply for funding, maybe a grant? Something like this would be so cool, but I think I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me know what you think, I’m so excited.” She’s waving her hand excitedly and I realize she doesn’t know she video called me.
“Hi.” I watch the confusion change her expression and she looks down at the phone with a smile.
“Hi, yourself. What are you doing here?”
“You called me. I only answered and there you were.” Not that I’m complaining, a video call seems more intimate—intimate because I’m shirtless in bed and Dahlia is clearly in her pajamas. Based on her blush, she’s having the same realization.
“I’m so sorry I must have clicked to video call by mistake.
I can text it if you’re going to bed.” Her gaze drifts to my naked chest, all curls and tattoos.
I can’t help but put my arms behind my head, flexing even more.
Shameless, sure, but her heated stare makes it worth it.
I smirk, letting her know I don’t mind her perusal one bit.
“I’m just lying here, not going to bed yet. What’s up?”
“Oh, well okay. Like I was saying, I had an idea for my thesis and I think you might be able to help me with it. What if I wrote about outdoor therapy? You know, being in nature, working with horses. Not in a wilderness cult way, but in a way where you could learn to care for horses or farm animals and also start therapy. I know a lot of teenagers hate to sit in a stuffy office with some buttoned up asshole, so what if they didn’t have to?
I’m still brainstorming, but it’s the first thing that doesn’t make me want to quit school and join a traveling circus. ”
I gotta give it to her, it’s a cool idea.
When all the shit went down with my dad, it felt like the therapist they tried to stick me with didn’t give a fuck if I lived or died.
Maybe that’s an exaggeration from my clouded teenaged mind, but he had way too many questions about the wrong things.
Why do I feel so angry? Why don’t I work towards forgiveness?
That shit was laughable, my dad beat me and lost custody, yet I’m the one who needs to do the work.
I walked out of his office and I told my case worker if she made me go back, I’d run for it. She didn’t give up, she pivoted.
At the time, I didn’t realize she was actually helping me by taking me on walks or drawing with me. None the wiser, I opened up more and more until she trusted I’d give therapy another shot.
Regular therapy didn’t necessarily work for me as a kid, but she didn’t give up because I needed something different—which is exactly what Dahlia is suggesting.
“It makes sense, Dahlia. I like it. A lot. Feels like it could really make a difference. You need a farm? Horses?” I waggle my eyebrows at her.
“You offering? Would Jasper even be okay with this?” The way her face scrunches up, I’m wondering if Jasper didn’t give her the same shit he gave me about our friendship.
“I’d have to talk to him, but I’m sure he’d see the benefit. In all honesty, the farm is struggling as it is, so it wouldn’t be the worst thing to try something new. Why the face?”
“I mean Jasper doesn’t seem like my biggest fan. He kinda questioned us hanging out and what I wanted from you. He seems protective,” she says softly.
While Jasper is fiercely loyal, I still don’t know it’s the reason for his meddling.
“Nah, don’t worry, I’ll talk to him about it. I’m happy to hear you got some inspiration.” I’m not ready to hang up yet. Not when I have her here bare faced, wet hair loosely braided over her shoulder, talking to me while I’m laying in bed. “Tell me about your day.” It’s comfortable, familiar.
She launches into a story about the leaky pipe in her shower and her shows coming up this week. The club is doing renovations this weekend, so she works Thursday night this week rather than Friday and Saturday.
I listen intently, allowing myself the fantasy she’s here in my bed, head on my chest, while I caress her arms. We talk well into the night, only saying good night when she starts to doze off in the middle of telling me her favorite scary movie villains.
I wish her sweet dreams and selfishly hope those dreams are sweet on me.