Camilla sighs from her favorite spot on my desk. “Why aren’t more women in video games curvier?”
I glance away from the creation on my screen. “What?”
She points to my open sketchbook.
“She’s not for a video game.”
“What’s she for?”
After a small hesitation, I correct, “Okay she’s not for a video game yet.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means that’s the notebook I free sketch in. Everything from superheroes to what I had for dinner to what I someday hope to see in a game.”
Camilla tilts her head and gives the design another look.
The warrior woman with an oversized pair of boobs, thunder thighs, flat stomach, no waist and flowing hair looks like every gamer’s wet dream. She’s got an M-16 strapped to her back, a bandolier across her tits, and a katana in each hand. Her obnoxiously high boots in an even more ridiculously tight outfit, tie in the very critical elements I am used to reading about women hating and men adoring. For the sake of my sanity, I gave her chocolate brown skin. Camilla isn’t alone in her wish for diversity in games.
“Don’t you have anything more…”Camilla waves a hand at the design. “Womanly pleasing. I know there are women gamers. We exist.”
With a smirk, I turn back a few sketches, and show her the shirtless design of a cowboy holding a shot gun. “Like him?”
“God yes,” she whispers at the drawing. “Is he real? Can you make him real? Can we get you one of those magic pencils, so whatever you draw pops up in real life?”
I catch my laugh in the palm of my hand.
He’s not completely real, but he definitely has elements of Ford, my supportive, inspirational hunk of a boyfriend. Gah, calling him my boyfriend even seems like a dream come true. And that’s what he insists I refer to him as. He wants all claims on me he can get…Camilla thinks it’s cute. However, she is heavily against us taking things slow. I actually like it. In its own way it’s a huge relief. I’m not a virgin, but my sexual skills are probably closer than I care to admit to anyone outside of myself. Taking things slow means, we’re given time for us to build things up. Find a groove that works for us. There’s time for me to make sure he’s satisfied in other departments before I bomb miserably during our first round in the sheets. So far? We’ve spent the last week discovering the forgotten joys of hand jobs and finger bangs. No complaints. On either end.
All of a sudden, Bart’s voice rings in my office, “Ollie, you got a minute?”
“Of course.” I turn in my chair to face my boss. “Always.”
“I’m just wondering if-” he unexpectedly cuts himself off and looks around me. “What’s that?”
“Women’s legs,” Camilla teases giving her bare calves a graze. “Surely, you’ve see those before Bart.”
His blonde eyebrows furrow as he hits her with displeased scowl.
Thankfully, we work in a casual place. Camilla is allowed to make lewd and usually inappropriate jokes because her work ethic, commitment, and impeccable ability to debug the shit out of every game given to her are something to be envied. It seems like if you’re skills are sharp enough in your department, they’re willing to overlook other things like your foul mouth or need to doodle Christmas trees on the yearly contract form.
He moves around and I scoot my chair out of his way. “This. What game is this for? I don’t remember anyone pitching a western…Westerns are…outdated…even if the sketch is,” the word seems to get lost on his lips, “outstanding. Look at those eyes. He’s got the whole ‘save the damsel’ shit in his eyes.”
Ford definitely has a similar mentality sometimes…
“What’s this for?” Bart continues to question, panic quickly rising in his tone. “Is this contract work for another company? Are you considering leaving? Do we not pay you enough? Were you displeased with your spring bonus?”
“She gets a bonus?!” Camilla scoffs. “What the hell?”
He gives her a pointed look. “Did we or did we not send you, all expenses paid, to Cancun for a conference and then to Vegas for a team building trip?”
“Not all,” she mumbles quietly.
“No. You’re right. We refused to give you more than a thousand dollars to gamble with.”
“Cheap bastards.”
Bart tosses a hand in the air. “Camilla!”
Her snicker is followed with her sliding off my desk. “I’m going. I’m going. I’m sure I have something to work on or at the very least something to avoid working on.”
She saunters out of my office with a smirk plastered on her face.
Sometimes I wonder if she pushes the limits too far just to see what will happen.
“Ollie,” Bart’s voice shakes with concern. “This artwork-”
“Just free sketches,” I swiftly reply before he begins to hyperventilate. “I’d never leave you guys. You know I love it here.”
“We want you here,” he instantly reassures. “Your artwork is unparalleled. We’d do just about anything to keep you.”
The flattery makes me smile warmly.
Ford keeps saying that too about my skills. He even asked me to make him two logos to test for their beer sampling at the local festival going on downtown in a couple of weeks. The designs didn’t take long, but because I switched to perfectionist zone, nothing else received any attention from me, including my horny boyfriend and our always hungry pig.
“Let me ask you something,” Bart begins, eyes now back on the drawing. “When you free sketch like this do you have a…specific game type or story in mind?”
“Sometimes…”
“What about for this one?”
“I was thinking a first-person shooter. Gritty small-town setting. Not a western, more modern. Basically, it’s a man wandering around this place fighting zombies or mutants or just some sort of infected while searching for his wife.”
“Like a rescue mission?”
“Like rescue meets…zombie apocalypse.”
Bart cocks a grin. “Those are always your favorite to design.”
“They’re popular…”
He chuckles a little under his breath, gives the character one more look, and then says, “Why don’t you spend the rest of the week coming up with a solid story line? The beginning, the middle, and the definitive end. Create a few of these ‘infected’ on paper as well as the woman he’s trying to rescue. And then next week when Buddy gets back from his ski trip we can go to dinner to discuss the details. Potentially adopting the project and allowing you to do more than just the sketches. Sound good?”
Disbelief plummets my jaw to the floor.
Certain I misheard him, I remain silent and wait for Ashton Kutcher to jump out of the desk drawer to shout ‘Punked’, before announcing the stupid prank shows inevitable return. It hasn’t yet, my money is on the notion it will. Revamping everything seems very popular.
“Sound good?” Bart repeats with a firmer tone.
“Okay…” I quietly concur.
“Great!” He claps his hands together. “Now, the reason I actually came in was to ask you if you had revisited the grim reaper designs for Dragon’s Doctrine. You still have time, but you’re often ahead of schedule and I was curious to the adjustments.”
“I am and I already sent it to Constantine.”
He shakes his head. “Should’ve guessed.”
“Probably…”
Bart starts to speak when Camilla’s voice shouts, “Son of a bitch!”
“How many times do I have to remind her about language?”
“About as many times as you have to remind Demetri not to eat other people’s snacks.”
“Demetri, your ass is toast when I find you!” her voice distantly threatens.
He lets out a heavy sigh, shakes his head again, and announces, “Time to do the part of being a boss I hate.”
“Calling Meredith to deal with it?”
Bart gives me a small guilty nod on his way out of my office.
Once he’s gone, I grab my cell phone, dialing the first person I can’t wait to tell.
The phone rings a single time before Ford’s smooth voice states, “And how is the most beautiful woman in my life?”
I helplessly swoon at the unprecedented compliment.
He does this shit all the time. Constantly. He’s the best fucking thing for my ego I didn’t realize was so neglected and so greedy.
“I’m…good. I’m really good.”
“Oh yeah?” There’s a short shuffling on the other end followed with complete cease of movement. The clear indication all of his attention is now on my words makes my smile expand wider. “Why’s that?”
“Because I have you.”
The light chuckle I’m given embraces me as tightly as his arms usually do. “Baby, when you start conversations this way they usually end up with me doing something I don’t typically enjoy…”
Twice! That only happened twice and how was I supposed to know he would hate the video game themed concert! I thought hearing classic video game sounds recreated by an orchestra would be amazing…And it was. Well. For one of us.
“What do you need, Ollie?”
“Nothing,” I reassure with mirth lingering in my voice. “Just called to tell you my boss saw one of my sketches that resembles you-”
“Me? You sketched me?”
“You know I sketch you.”
“But like a video character?”
“Yeah…”
“What type?” He begins to interrogate, intrigue clear as day. “Am I something respectable like a WWII pilot or pilot of a spaceship?”
“Why do I get the feeling you might’ve wanted to be a pilot as a kid?”
“Maybe…” Ford chuckles a little. “Anyway, what’d you draw?
“You as a cowboy.”
“Not the most original, but I bet I still look pretty good.”
“Your modesty isn’t going unnoticed.” After we exchange another round of snickers, I continue, “As I was saying, my boss stumbled across the free sketch, assumed it was for a game, and then offered to make it a part of one when he found out it wasn’t.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah! I mean I’ve got a week to sketch a few more, come up with a more concrete concept, but yeah! Basically, if him and his partner like what I pitch, I will get to be more hands on and help develop a game I came up with.”
His smile is apparent even over the phone. “Have I not been telling you how incredible you are?”
“You have.”
“Do you believe me now?”
“Just a little…”
Ford laughs again, loud, but still full of life. “What do you say we go and celebrate tonight?”
“Where?”
“Anywhere you want.”
“Does that include going to see Trouble in Toon Time?”
He groans his displeasure. “Yes…”
“Really?”
“Really. But if that’s what we’re going to see, we’re going to the theater that does food and beer, so I can drink my way through it.”
“Stop it…You don’t hate animated movies nearly as much as you pretend.”
“And you don’t hate westerns nearly as much you pretend.”
True. It has become so true…Funniest thing about our movie watching is we have found the perfect compromise. Fievel Goes West. Best of both worlds and is becoming our go to movie when there’s nothing else on.
“So…do we need to call a sitter?” I tease.
“She’ll be fine,” he reassures. “Maybe a little jealous we’re out all evening.”
“We’ll give her a non-bacon treat as a peace offering. Wanna bring something on your way or grab something together after the movie?”
“After the movie is good. I actually have to work the full day.”
“Oh.”
“I know,” Ford sighs. “I was hoping to be out of here early, but you know how that goes.”
“You run a company, Ford. They don’t typically like you to play hookie every day.”
“Not hookie. Just…an altered schedule.” My snickering causes him to snap, “Hey! I show up earlier now than I used too. The least I should be able to do is leave sooner. Keep things balanced.”
“Uh-huh,” I mock. “You should take that up with the boss…Oh wait...That’s you.”
He lightly laughs.
“You coming by right when you get off or going by your apartment first?”
“Straight over. I look decent enough for a children’s movie.”
“Animated.”
“More children than adults in the movie, Ollie, classifies it as a kid’s movie.” A voice says something in the background, which prompts him to end our call. “I gotta go. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Bye, Farm Boy.”
“Bye, Darlin’.”
The minute the call ends my face expands into another beam bright enough to blind anyone who looks my way.
“And what did the boss man want?” Camilla’s voice questions from the doorway.
I turn her direction to see her eating a cup of yogurt.
With my smile still wide I proceed to usher her in, thrilled to be telling the other most important person in my life the good news.
At first I thought it was crazy to be this enthralled and invested in another person, but the truth is, life is so much better when there’s someone to share it with. Someone who supports and takes joy in your joy. Coming from a family of loners, of very independent and withdrawn people, it feels very unnatural to be this way, yet the more time I spend with Ford, the more I’m falling in love with it…and him.
Just as I prepare to squeeze conditioner into the palm of my hand, there’s a loud unexpected crash. I jump, sending the bottle tumbling to floor of the tub and the intended conditioner for my hair all over the wall.
This is ridiculous! I should be able to leave Princess Pinky out while I take a quick shower. She’s a pig, not an actual toddler even if their behaviors at times are eerily similar.
I quickly rinse off my hand, cut the water off, and grab my towel. Mumbling under my breath empty threats, I swing open my bathroom door to see Ford on his knees by the edge of my bed.
A deep sigh of relief is immediate. When I told him I’d leave the door unlocked for him to just let himself in, I didn’t think he would scare the shit out of me in the process. “It’s you making all that noise? Not Princess Pinky.”
His attention snaps up but his jaw drops.
Confused as to the change in expression, I ask, “What? What’s wrong?”
Ford’s eyes slowly dip down my body and the answer swiftly becomes apparent.
This is the closest to naked he’s ever seen me. While we’ve been actively groping one another like we suddenly see with our hands instead of our eyes, I’ve managed to skirt around having to be completely exposed. He’s seen both halves, just at different times. Never all at once. And never in the very bright light of my bedroom, which now feels as bright as a Broadway spotlight.
The moment my fingers start tugging to close the towel more, he unpleasantly snaps, “What are you doing?”
“Trying to…conceal myself. What are you doing?”
“Trying to get our hog from underneath the bed where she’s enjoying the celebration cupcake I stopped to buy you.”
Ford’s thoughtfulness causes me to coo. “Aw…”
His unhappy expression doesn’t waiver. “Why are you tryin’ to hide your beautiful body from me, Ollie?”
My lips unconsciously press together.
“I’ve already seen you naked.”
“In half.”
It’s his turn to look flummoxed. “What?”
“You’ve seen me naked in halves. Never the whole thing. Never all…at one time…”
Ford frowns at the response. “Why not?”
I don’t answer.
He adjusts his arm on the edge of my bed yet remains on his knees. With no room for argument in his delivery, he commands, “Come over here.”
The combination of his tone and his powerful stare create an unexpected wetness between my thighs. Heat begins to blaze its way from the tips of my toes to my already steaming face. A familiar longing festers between my thighs, and my body’s desire to have it filled is what causes me to drift his direction.
Once I’m in front of him, body nervously braced against the bed for support, he slides his hands slowly up my damp legs. My eyes struggle to stay open against the simple pleasure of his touch. As soon as he reaches the edge of my towel he gives it a sharp tug banishing it from my body. It hits the floor with a thud and my heart bolts to my throat.
Naked. I am completely naked in front of him. He can see everything. God, the lights are probably showcasing my stretch marks, the hairs I missed shaving, the-
Ford’s tongue gives my bare pussy a light, lascivious lick.
The force of the gasp torn from me causes my knees to debilitate me.
He barely lifts his eyes during his suggestion, “You may wanna sit down for this.”
There’s no time given to process what’s happening. Ford lightly pushes me onto the edge of the bed, throws my legs over his shoulders, and lowers his mouth to start salaciously sucking on my pussy. His fingers dig into my hips, latching me against his ferociously active tongue that seems to be in no mood for mercy. My body falls backwards yet my hips continue to beg for more. All too happy to oblige, Ford’s feast increases in speed and urgency. I curl my fingers into the sheets while whimpers fall freely from parted lips. Ceaselessly, he caresses my clit, responding appropriately to every shake and shudder his restless mouth seems to uncover. Each time he groans in approval of my wetness dripping onto his tongue, my pussy responds in a new-found desperation to keep him pleased by becoming wetter. The nonstop devotion to devouring me has my eyes screwed shut and obliterated my ability to focus on anything other than the orgasm racing to greet him. With no additional warning, I begin to come, his name chiming around the room like church bells. Ford’s face presses itself deeper between my legs, anxious to lap up every last drop of me as if he’s found the forbidden fruit of paradise. My voice shakes along with my legs until my entire body reaches a level of depletion.
Ford’s hot, heavy breath on my sensitive pussy during his pull away causes an additional bow off the bed. When I finally remember how basic body functions work like breathing and blinking, I let my attention settle on his beaming face, which is still happily positioned between my thighs.
He wets his lips. “Ready to go again?”
“Again?” I squeak, shooting up to my elbows. “You’re not…tired?!”
His face tilts to the side. “Ollie it was only like six minutes.”
“That’s it?!”
A cocky chuckle escapes. “That’s it baby.”
I’ve never come so fast from having a guy go down on me. In my defense, there have only been two and neither seemed very interested in educational tips on getting me off. Apparently to them eating a girl out was just a box to check off on route to sex. Still. I think my boyfriend might have a magical tongue…
Ford plants a soft kiss on my inner thigh before repeating, “Ready to go again?”
My pussy tightens in approval for more. I give him a small smirk, bite my bottom lip, and nod.
This whole going slow thing is only increasing in benefits and doubling up orgasms for me. Whoever said after thirty hitting ‘the bases’ one by one was a waste of time, clearly never had the pleasure of Ford Shaw between their legs…