We had met some guys at Barton’s and they had come back to our apartment. They were a few years younger, both seniors at Rinard. I had felt a bit like a cougar when the one named Lambert had started putting the moves on me. He was a fresh-faced twenty who obviously hadn’t ventured far from the family farm. He seemed awestruck when I gave him my attention, which was good for the ego.
So I had gone along with it for a while. We had kissed and there had been some mild groping but then Cole happened. Or more like the memory of his mouth and his hands ruined any chance for poor Lambert.
I had shut it down. I had sent poor country boy home with nothing to show for it but a raging case of disappointment. And I had spent the rest of my evening eating ice cream and watching Mob Wives.
It wouldn’t have been such a bad night actually, if I hadn’t had to suffer through the sounds of Gracie enjoying herself with Lambert’s roommate Nathan, on the other side of our all too thin walls.
I had woken up in the afternoon the next day to the incessant dinging of my cellphone. I had been shocked as hell to see the number of texts and missed calls I had from Cole.
It was like he knew or something. I was beginning to think he had hookup ESP. He was able to psychically know when I was trying to have a good time without him.
For a brief moment I thought something had happened to Maysie. That she had been hurt. So I had called him back immediately. When he had asked where I had been in that sexy, husky way of his, I realized that his manic calling had to do with something else entirely.
If I hadn’t known any better, I would have thought Cole had been missing me. And when I asked him as much, he had blown it off just as I had expected him to. But there was a note to his voice that was confusing. He seemed almost sad. And a lot vulnerable.
We ended up talking for over an hour. Up until he had to leave for his radio interview. And then he called me again after his show and we ended up staying on the phone until the early hours of the morning.
And there hadn’t been any women in his hotel room. I could tell by the silence in the background that he had been completely alone. That alone was a reason to believe in miracles. Cole Brandt without a girl in his room had me almost believing in unicorns and fairies.
Then I started to wonder what he wanted. It was like when a husband buys his wife flowers out of the blue. The first thought the woman has is, “What did he do wrong?” Or “What is he up to, the bastard?”
And if it involved handcuffs and dressing like a nun again so I could smack him with a ruler for a being a “naughty boy” I’d tell him where to shove it.
Several months ago I had spent four hours, in a nun habit, handcuffed to a hotel bed because Cole couldn’t remember where he had left the keys. In the end he had to call a locksmith to pick the lock.
Imagine my total mortification when a complete stranger took in my odd get up, bound to a bed. And Cole hadn’t even bothered to put away the obscenely large, neon blue vibrator that sat proudly on the bedside table, announcing to the world that we liked it kinky.
The locksmith didn’t say anything, thank god, but I think he was enjoying himself a little too much as he took an inordinately long time to free me.
After Cole had paid him, he thought we could launch back into his quirky sex game. I had let him know, in no uncertain terms, that the only sex game he would be indulging in would involve his hand and his balls.
He had tried to butter me up with his patented version of sweet-talking. Though being told my tits made him want to bust a load in his pants didn’t make my heart skip a beat.