Bobbi

Tate had been gone for two weeks. His leaving caused me to realize just how much I looked forward to the conversations we had during his stay at the institution.

As a matter of choice, I had very few people in my life. There was a handful of girls I was friendly with, but I really didn’t have any close girlfriends. When it came to men, matters weren’t much different.

Early in life, I eagerly hooked up with whoever was willing to pay me a moment’s attention. It took a few years and a plethora of sucked dicks to learn my lesson, but my experiences told me that when it came to women my size, men weren’t interested in relationships. They only wanted a blowjob or a booty call.

As a result, I now shied away from most men.

Tate was different. He obviously wasn’t driven by sex. He seemed to genuinely be interested in me as a person. Naturally, I wondered how much of the attention he gave me was due to my being the only woman he came in contact with.

I now found him more intriguing. The stories weren’t what I would expect any man to write, let alone someone who spent his leisure time riding a motorcycle in a gang. I was convinced he was a hopeless romantic. No one could write the way he did and not be. So far, his heroes had two things in common: they never cheated, and they were protective over women – all women – who were being victimized.

I told myself those were traits that he, too, possessed.

Eleven books into his collection of works, I had just finished the last book of a three-book BDSM series about a Dom/sub relationship. I’d gone through two sets of batteries during my reading journey, and had worn my lower region into a tender mess.

I felt sorry for women who had yet to experience a remote-controlled vibrator. Being filled with eight inches of vibrating purple silicone while having two free hands often left me feeling like I’d been groped by a group of horny teens. But, I was always satisfied in the end, and there were never any unkept promises or broken hearts.

Sitting on my couch holding a remote control that was remote but wouldn’t control, I frantically searched Amazon Prime for a battery-operated-boyfriend that qualified for next day delivery. IMO had a two-pronged device that looked promising, and it came in my favorite color.

Purple.

My one-click finger made the purchase before I finished reading the rave reviews. Convinced I needed a break from reading – and from pleasuring myself – I set my Kindle aside and tossed the broken remote control across the floor of my apartment.

Dressed in my typical evening attire of sweats and an oversized tee, I stared blankly at the television as TNT’s Animal Kingdom silently played. The movement on the screen was a distraction to the fact that I lived alone. I was one season into the series, and enjoyed looking at the handsome men. But, no differently than any of the other shows I watched, the sound was muted the entire time it played.

I missed Tate, and was angry for allowing myself to become attached to how he made me feel. There was some merit to the rule regarding guards interacting with inmates. Becoming attached, even if it wasn’t romantic, eventually exposed the staff member to the anxiety of separation. The prisoners in the facility had one thing in common.

They eventually left. All of them.

Convinced I’d accomplished nothing in the last two weeks short of reading and whacking off, I decided to clean my apartment. After no more than standing and scanning the small living area, there was a dull knock at my door.

There was only one person that came to my home unannounced. Fully expecting to see my neighbor, Andy, I walked across the room and peered through the peephole. Just as I suspected, his distorted body stood on the landing. He had a few issues when it came to cleanliness and contamination, and always knocked by lightly kicking my door. He was equal parts annoying and cute.

I pulled it open. “Yes?”

Andy was in his early sixties, very friendly, and slightly over protective. His hair was solid gray, and he kept it cut short, neatly combed, and fixed in place with plenty of product. He was six inches shorter than me, and rather slight in build.

Despite his size, he had a huge heart.

Dressed in khaki-colored slacks and a sky blue short-sleeved button-down shirt, he peered beyond me and into the living room. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” I said. Why?”

Being cautious not to touch the door, he pushed his way past me and surveyed the living room.

“Sounded like someone was slaughtering a moose. I was in the middle of showering, and heard the commotion. Took me a minute to get dried off and dressed, or I would have been here a few minutes ago.”

I motioned toward the vacant room. “There’s no moose here.”

“It sounded horrific.” He turned around and looked right at me. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“I promise.”

His eyes darted toward the door repeatedly.

I chuckled. “I’m serious. Everything’s fine.”

He pushed his hands into his pockets and exhaled heavily. “I was sure I was going to end up escorting someone out of here by their ear.”

Undoubtedly, he’d heard me masturbating. At least until my remote control went on the fritz. My mouth curled into a grin. “Not tonight.”

He glanced at the television, and then at me. “That’s one you should turn the volume up for. It’s exciting. Filmed in Oceanside, too.”

“Is it?”

“That’s what they say. Filmed on location. That Baz fellow is a horse’s ass, though. He cheats on his wife with some gal down in Mexico. I know it’s just a TV show, but it makes me mad that he does that. It’s tense from beginning to end.”

“I don’t listen to any of them, so I’ll just take your word for it.”

“I can’t understand why you pay for the cable service, and don’t watch the shows.”

“I do watch them. I just don’t listen to them.”

His brows knitted together. “I find it odd.”

I cocked my head to the side. “How many showers did you take today?”

He pursed his lips and gazed down at the floor. After a moment, he looked up. “Oh, I don’t know, why?”

“Take a guess.”

“Six.” He shrugged. “Maybe seven.”

“We all have our quirks, Andy.”

“Point taken.” He gave the room another look. “I can’t think of what that noise might have been.”

“Hard saying,” I said.

“You know how noise travels through these floors. Damned things are like paper. Might have been Ms. Mayberry’s dog down in 202.”

“Might have been.”

His eyebrows raised. “How many points do you have left?”

I’d been in Weightwatchers since meeting Andy. He was well aware of my devotion to the program, and was fairly supportive of my adherence to their system of applying points to all things edible.

I extended my index and middle finger. “Two.”

“Two?” he sighed. “Sounds like you’ll be having string cheese for a snack. I was going to see if you wanted some sorbet.”

“We’ll have to do it some other time. I splurged on dinner and rice with my chicken.”

“Too bad you can’t use some of tomorrow’s point tonight.”

“I’m not going to get caught in that trap,” I said with a laugh.

“I understand.” He pushed his hands deep into his pockets and then looked at me with hopeful eyes. “Maybe we’ll do it later this week.”

I smiled. “Sounds good.”

“I’m going to go down and check on Ms. Mayberry.” He walked to the door and then paused. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Using it to protect his hand from contamination, he reached for the door handle.

“Save some points on Thursday,” he said over his shoulder.

“I’ll do that.”

I hadn’t lost weight since I’d been on the program, but I hadn’t gained any, either. Before I committed to diet, my weight fluctuated. When it was up, I exercised madly, and starved myself. When it was down, I celebrated with bread and cheeses.

Now, my exercise – and my weight – were steady. I’d finally found a place where my body was comfortable.

I glanced at the remote control that lay at the edge of the living room floor and hoped that one day I could find a man who was comfortable with my body.