—Boogeyman—
Dammit to hell, this woman has me all twisted up inside. Making me fucking wash dishes and shit. All because I want to know her fantasy. I really am a Goddamn sadist.
Fuck me. She is still only wearing my t-shirt, stretching to put something in the cabinet. The t-shirt that's riding up her hips, hips that I want grab hold of as I slam into her from behind, revealing her bare ass to me, reminding me of how damn sexy it looked with my hand prints on it.
Turning around, Shelly catches me staring at her. A sweet smile spreads over her lips. “So where are we doing this? Do you have clippers?”
“Have my shave kit in my bag,” I tell her gruffly, wondering if there is any other way to get this secret desire out of her. Could take her over my knee and spank it out of her but she seems to really want this and part of me wants to give it to her.
I wonder if this is what normal people do? Give and take. Push and pull.
“In here is fine.” I shrug, and she pulls a chair out from the kitchen table.
“Have a seat. Is your kit in the bag you have in the bedroom?”
“Yeah,” I grunt, feeling that damn tickle in the back of my throat.
“Okay,” she singsongs and heads toward the bedroom. Part of me has wondered if this memory loss of hers is all an act, but she seems too friendly...too comfortable with me for that to be the case. I’m not letting my guard down though.
I can’t afford to be stupid all for some pussy. Even as I think it though, I know she is more than pussy. If pussy were all I wanted from her I would have taken it by now and done away with her.
A few minutes later she returns minus her cock flip-flops. An image of her barefoot and pregnant shoots to the front of my mind, reminding me of that old saying: Keep her barefoot in the winter and pregnant in the summer. That is exactly what I would like to do with her, but I know that won’t happen. It’s a fucking fantasy. A dream that won’t come true. Never been much for wishing on stars or any of that shit. I don't pray to God either. He forgot about me a long time ago, if he ever thought of me at all.
I’m not meant to have a happy ending. Nor am I fit to be a father. No way in hell am I passing my fucked up genes onto a poor unsuspecting child. I won’t fuck a kid up like my old man did me.
“Take your shirt off.”
I comply to her demand and pull it up over the back of my head and toss it to the floor.
Shelly places a towel on me, draping it over my bare shoulders. Her tit presses against my cheek as she leans over my shoulder from behind to smooth the navy-blue cotton towel out. I want to bite her but refrain...for now.
She moves around the kitchen, humming a tune I don’t recognize.
“Whatcha singing?”
“Hmmm? Oh, I don’t know.” She shakes her head, confusion etched in her eyes. “It must be something I liked but what, I don't know.”
Running the faucet in the sink, she wets her hands then rubs them over my beard.
Tilting my head back, I get a face full of her tits. I’m not sure how long I can handle this without making a move to scratch my itch to have her perfect titties in my mouth. Her fucking sinful body under me, crying out my name when I fuck her hard from behind.
The electric razor starts, and she gets to work shaving away my wirey hair. She stops every so often to clear the hair from the razor. I close my eyes and enjoy her taking care of me. I’ve never let anyone do something so intimate as shave my beard or cut my hair.
The last person to give me a haircut was Kristen and I was probably nine.
Shelly’s fingers strum through my hair, combing the tangles as she wets the strands.
“Feel good?”
I open my eyes to see her staring down at me with her lips quirked up in a sexy smirk.
I grunt out a rough, “yeah.” I clear my throat. “You gonna tell me that fantasy now?”
“Tell me something about you. What I am going to tell you is very personal. I think it only fair you tell me something personal first.”
I want to tell her fuck no, but something pushes me to open up about Kristen. “I had a stepsister once. She used to cut my hair. No one has since she…” I trail off not wanting to go into detail. Not wanting to share that piece of me. No one needs to hear that fucked up story. The one I lived through.
“What was her name?” Shelly’s voice is soft, hypnotic…pulling the information out of me against my will.
“Name was Kristen. You remind me of her in small ways.”
“Is that why you wanted to help me? To save me from the bad people who wanted to hurt me?”
“Something like that,” I tell her, feeling like a lousy shit for lying. I can’t tell her the truth. Not yet. I’m not ready to give this up. Being here with her is the best thing that has ever happened to me.
The scissors snip at my hair, the strands slipping away, making me feel lighter.
“Your turn,” I demand.
“Right….” she hesitates. “Promise me you won’t think I am crazy.”
“Cross my heart.” I make the motion of crossing my heart.
“I mean it. If you laugh...,” her tone is playful as she mock threatens me with the scissors.
“You have my word.” My word has been the one constant I could depend on until I saw Shelly. Now that I have her here I will do anything to make her stay.