December 23

The snow looks as cold and miserable as I feel as I pull into my parking space at my apartment complex. Well, that went well! I think sarcastically, turning off the radio and practically ripping my car keys out of the ignition. Wear all my best, sexiest clothes, and the idiot doesn’t even know how to romance me out of my winter coat!

I open the door and climb out into the winter wonderland. My fluffy, roly-poly coat that goes down to my knees does a good job of keeping the cold out, but not my irritation. Fucking poser!

I shut my door with that thought, reminding myself that I’m not ever going to take Kyle up on another offer of a second date. Him, or boys like him. They are really boys! All of them!

It’s so frigid that underneath the puffy warmth of my jacket, I can practically feel the skin I had planned to have Kyle drool over. Since he didn’t, I imagine the fabric of my coat is caressing me, whispering to me about all my unfulfilled desires. But this only makes me angry at the softness of the fabric, which reminds me of Kyle’s clumsy, unconscious fingers.

He didn’t know a thing about how to deal with me when I was with him. What to do with all the hints I threw at him! In my head, I see myself exaggerating sexy poses. Inviting him to touch here, touch there. Pull aside this piece of clothing, lift up this part. Practically holding up a neon sign that says, “I’m ready and available! Please fuck me!”

But no. Kyle couldn’t read the sign. Hell, he wouldn’t even see a sign if I waved one in front of his face.

He just sat there like an idiot. Grinning. Watching me, like I was putting on a show for him, and not once getting the hint! I pull my coat more tightly around myself, and then cinch its hood around my head. Insulated from my embarrassment, and how much colder that makes the falling snow feel, I trudge across the parking lot and up the stairs to my second-floor apartment.

As I get to the door of my apartment, and go to open the lock, I drop the keys. Partly because my fingers are numb, but mostly because my thoughts have turned to Kyle and what I thought he was promising me with tonight’s date. He and I had discussed how prepared he was to taste and finger his way into all my thirsty, curious holes.

But that was all talk. I reach down to pick up my keys, and jam the front door key into the lock. Every bit of it. No game.

I shove my way through the door, slamming it shut behind me. The faint aroma of peppermint and chocolate scents the air. Leftovers of the candy cane hot chocolate I’d had before going on my date. I’d added a shot of peppermint schnapps, but not enough to get me drunk. Just enough to give me a relaxed buzz.

But after that nonsense — I shrug off my big winter coat, and comb my fingers down my plump breasts, smooth belly, and fashion-doll hips — I might need another one. That was a fucking disaster! I pet the fluffy, faux fur trim on my winter cocktail dress, and run my fingers over myself again, feeling lonely. Hungry. Even with just a little touch from my own fingers, my nipples are already hard.

But I guess I’m not one to talk either. Not really.

I walk into the kitchen, pouring myself the last bit of leftover spiked hot chocolate. The schnapps is almost too strong. Almost too violent against the chocolate; cold too, but I drink it anyway, berating myself.

It’s not like I know what I’m doing any more than Kyle does.

I swallow the last bit of chocolate, and then run my fingers down my dress, feeling its unique material— it cost a week’s wages. More than I’d ever dream of spending on an item of clothing . And after all the effort it took to get this outfit ready, it should get some use. Some appreciation.

I may not be very experienced in the bedroom, but that doesn’t mean I should keep getting with guys who are so inexperienced! Who are good at telling me what I want to hear, not giving me what I need or want!

With these thoughts, I let my fingers tease the furry hem of the dress. The one by my thighs, and by my breasts. I’m allowed to be inexperienced. Some men would kill to teach someone like me what do to in bed.

I drop my hand down the front of my dress. The lacy, practically see-through bra only makes my nipples feel harder. Bigger. Plumper, and irritated that they weren’t touched or sucked on by the man they’d gotten all prettied up for.

I was no stranger to dates but I hadn’t found the right guy— the take-charge, dominant kind of guy I knew I needed. Instead, the guys I went on dates with seemed intimidated by me. The night would always get awkward when it became obvious I was more interested in sex than they were.

My male friends have told me I come on too way strong and scare guys away. That those men who always disappoint me can sense I want more than they’re able or willing to deliver. My friends tell me to come across as meeker and less interested in sex. But instead of changing myself, I want to find a man who can handle me the way I am. Take me or leave me.

Plus, I don’t know if I could be disinterested in sex if I tried. It seems to always be on my mind lately. Since I can’t find a guy to pleasure me in real life, I’ve been reading a lot of steamy romance novels and watching a lot of porn. Lately, I’ve even gotten into some BDSM stuff— but only in fantasy; I’m not sure how I’d even actually like it in real life.

Women shouldn’t have to know more than the guys.

I sigh— partly out of frustration, partly out of a rising, numb and chilly pleasure. I start to pinch and twist my nipples with my free hand.

Not in my world.

In my world, a man would take control. Would know more than I do and enjoy educating me.

Almost immediately, my mind starts running wild with ideas about how such a man would “educate” me. Would make a true woman out of me, if I’m ever able to meet the right one. But before my mind can conjure any more of an image than that of a handsome shadow of man undressing me, I force myself to press “pause” on the movie my mind is about to play for me. I want to save that fantasy for when I’m in my bedroom.

I kick off my boots to one side of the hallway. From there, I hurry into my room and close the door.

At least when real life lets me down, I always have my imagination. When dates turn out to be duds in real life, I have my book boyfriends and big screen heroes. In other words, I may have found a cold reception from my date, but my fantasies are just heating up.