Brad

I didn’t even kiss her. I ran my nose down and across her skin. I inhaled her scent and my fingertips ran down half of her body in a frenzied manner.

But I knew once I started kissing her, that I wouldn’t stop. She looked frustrated when I pulled back and said I had to leave. I promised her I would come over tonight and cook her dinner. With her eyes betraying her eagerness, she nodded as I plucked her pouty bottom lip between my thumb and forefinger and kissed her cheek.

Before leaving, I see the fire in her eyes; I see the change in her breathing and the flush on her skin. She wants me as much as I want her, which is intoxicating. Having gone so long without having a woman’s hands on me. The soft curves of a woman, the moans and the scent of perfume. I would have burst as soon as my cock came anywhere close to her pussy. I need to make sure I regulate myself before going back over there tonight, which means taking myself in my hand and choking my cock with thoughts of what I want to do to her.

I had to go. I joined a work basketball league. We play every Saturday morning and then get a late lunch as a group. This was one of the new addition to my lifestyle, to add a different element of social interaction with others, something I never did before. After a week working at Omega, Dale invited me to join the team, which in addition to Dale and me, includes guys from several other departments. I am not the best basketball player. What I lack in point scoring, I make up for with my speed and stamina, which makes me good at defense. Unlike half the guys we play, I don’t get winded from running back and forth across the court. My aim is shit, but everything else is cool. The guys we play against are usually pretty cool guys as well, so that’s an added bonus.

It’s late afternoon by the time we’re finished with lunch, and Dale and I are the last two guys standing around in the parking lot.

“Since last night was a bust, do you want to go shoot some pool tonight?”

“You asking me on a date, man?” I tease.

“Honestly, you’re not my type.”

“Oh yeah, what’s your type, big guy?” I joke with him.

“Oh, the usual, shorter than me, nice olive skin, freckles. I love freckles. Oh, and this is a must, tits and a vagina.”

I playfully put my hand over my heart and give him a look of mock-scorn.

“I actually have plans tonight.” I smile.

“Plans, with another human being?”

“A female of the species, no less.”

“Do tell… Tell Dale everything.” He tries to stay serious but fails miserably as a smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Not talking about it. We don’t gossip like chicks!”

“But if you have a smile on your face on Monday, can we converse by the water cooler?”

“Never.”

“Bitch.”

“Ass.”

“Have fun. If your plans fall through, I’m down to be your fallback date,” Dale yells over his shoulder as he walks to his car.

“Thought I wasn’t your type?” I yell back.

Dale takes an assessing look at me, as if he’s taking my inventory. “Definitely not my type, but I’d pity hang out with you.” He laughs and gets in his car.

It’s been a while since I’ve had this kind of ribbing, back-and-forth conversation with anyone. Jacob was the last person that I had this sort of conversation with. I feel a slight twinge of longing for my family, but quicky push it aside to remember that I need to be in the present. While I was in prison, I kept to myself and didn’t make friends. I ate with my cell mate, so conversation was not much to speak of, since he was mute.

I didn’t anticipate finding friendship with new people would be as easy as it’s been. I’m welcoming all these positive changes to my life, including the possibility of romantic involvement. A part of me is terrified that she’s going to turn out to be a liar and a cheat, someone who will try to ruin my life just like the last chick did. What a mess that became, a mess that ultimately ruined my life and sent me to jail.

Shaking my head, I try to get my head out of the negative thinking and realize that I’ve been driving home on auto-pilot. I park the truck in the driveway and look up at my house. My empty house. My house has never had many visitors, so I’m unsure why it being empty bothers me so much now. I shake my head again and make my way up the steps to the porch.

I’m almost done rinsing off my day in the shower when I remember what I need to do if I’m going to see Mika tonight. I take my cock in my hand and turn my back to the water, since water sucks as a lubricant. My other hand is flat against the tiles as I hang my head and stroke my shaft tightly. My mind drifts back to last night, when I settled into Mika’s spare bedroom. My head was on the pillow, my mind active from where I was, when I heard a soft moan, which grew in volume as did her very audible breathing. Her place is older, so the walls are thin, and every sound seemed to echo off the hardwood floors, making them seem louder than I’m sure it really was. When I heard her hiss out yes, I wrapped my hand around my cock and began fucking it to the rhythm that I was imagining that she was using. I used last night’s jack off session with the sounds she was giving me as a soundtrack for right now. It took a while, with some light tugging of my balls and some squeezing of the head before I felt that sensation at the base of my spine. My climax still catches me off guard. As my cock spurts and my spine straightens, I throw my head back and grind my teeth while groaning loudly.

Mika

I’m not quite sure what to expect tonight when Brad comes over, but wishful thinking has me shaving everything. And I mean everything. It’s been so long since I’ve had a guy with romantic interest in my life, that this whole having a guy come over who isn’t Jared’s father is practically unprecedented.

Is Brad going to follow through with a real kiss? Are we going to make out? Are we gonna go all the way and fuck?

Do I want to fuck him? Hell yes, I do!

Why am I so vulgar? Because you haven’t gotten any since before Jared was born.

Ugh, I need to tell him about Jared. I need to stop thinking about Jared while I’m thinking about sexy time with Brad.

My mind has been going in all directions since he left me this morning with wet panties. We didn’t kiss, even though it was all that I wanted. He grazed his lips across my skin, while his hands moved around my body languidly. After he left, I took a cold shower because I’ve heard time and time again that they help when you’re worked up. Except when I got out, I was still aroused, so much so that I lay on my bed with my legs spread and Mr. T. in my hand.

I busied myself for the rest of the day with household chores, with butterflies in my stomach each time I thought about Brad.

I was stepping out of the shower when a knock echoed through the house. Securing my towel around me and wringing out my hair, I rush to the door and pull it open to Brad’s back. He’s standing at the end of the porch with his hands in his pockets. He turns when he hears the door open and his mouth opens but no sound comes out. He instantly moves to the door as I scurry back. He closes the door and places his back to it. His chest is heaving and his eyes are burning as he looks me up and down.

“You trying to give me a heart attack?” he breathes.

“I would be the best person to be around if you were having one,” I joke.

“My god, woman, go put some clothes on immediately. I’m having a hard enough time standing over here right now.”

I laugh as I wave him in and retreat to the stairs. I quickly dress in jeans and a plain shirt and head back downstairs.

I find him in the kitchen, staring into my empty fridge. The light from inside the fridge makes his profile glow. I don’t get the luxury of staring at him because he spots me immediately.

“We’re going to the store,” he says.

“What? Why?” I ask quickly.

“We’re going to cook dinner together.”

“Oh. Buddy, you have me mixed up with Suzie Homemaker. I don’t cook food. I order it. Or it comes from a box.”

“You don’t cook?”

“No sir. I burn. I excel at calling in to-go orders. And microwaving. Apparently, I’m really good at pressing buttons.”

“How have you survived all this time?”

“Reed cooks sometimes, but I didn’t get that gene when they were doled out by my parents.”

“So much to learn.” He shakes his head.

“I’ve done pretty well despite not learning how to cook. Why start now?”

“Come on. This will be fun.” He smirks as he leads the way through my house and out to his truck parked at the curb.

We spend the next hour and a half grocery shopping. I throw a bunch of microwave meals into the cart, but he puts them back in the freezer after I wander into the next aisle. He lets a few slide, but not without complaint. When we’re checking out, it’s a battle over who gets to pay, but after he uses his entire body to block me from the credit swiper thing, he wins.

“I think this is the most food I’ve ever seen in my kitchen.” I say as we lug the last bags into the house.

He laughs as he starts putting things away.

“I can’t believe you put all those microwaves dinner away. What am I going to eat?”

“Food.” He laughs.

“So you’re going to come over and cook food all the time? That’s quite a heavy commitment. I’m not even sure that I really like you enough to endure nightly visits. I’m actually not sure you’re ready for that one either.” Because some of the time it would be cooking for three and not just two.

He stops everything and turns to me. A contemplative look covers his face as he wipes his hands on a towel. Placing one foot in front of the other in purposeful strides, he closes the five foot gap between us. He takes my face into his hands and angles his head slightly, then lowers his mouth to mine. My hands grip his wrists and my eyes flutter closed as our lips meet for the first time. His kiss is gentle, and his lips are soft although slightly rough around the edges from the day old scruff on his face. His tongue basically knocks on my lips for entrance and I don’t hesitate to let him in. He explores my mouth and then starts to slowly pull back. His lips slowly retreat and then come back for a soft, closed-mouth kiss.

Perfect first kiss. No slobber, no suffocation, not overdone. And it was the perfect hint of what could happen to leave me wanting more. And boy, do I want more. His hands are still on my jaw and my hands still grip his wrists as he looks down at me.

“Oh you like me all right,” he boasts, his voice like gravel. A slow smile forms on his mouth. His smoldering stare makes my knees weak as he begins to pull away.

“That’s debatable,” I finally say.

He pulls fully away and resumes putting away the groceries.

“Oh really?”

“So what, you’re a really good kisser and you aren’t too shabby to look at. What else do you have?”

“I can cook.”

“Well, you got me there,” I sigh.

“So, a good kisser, huh?” he pries.

Immediately embarrassed, I switch up the subject. “So, what are we – I mean you – making for dinner?”

“We are going to make chicken parmesan.”

“Sounds hard.” I scrunch my nose.

“It’s easy, I promise. I’ll reward you with one of my good kisses,” he teases.

“Now you’re bribing me?”

“Who says I’m not getting anything out of it?” he retorts.

“You can’t blame me if I burn anything,” I start. “I burn pans like you change underwear.”

“How do you know if I’m wearing underwear?” He smiles lazily.

“Oh c’mon!” I cross my arms.

I reached into the mudroom cabinet for the aprons that I never use. I handed him the plain apron while I donned the princess apron my mom bought me last Christmas. He begins to instruct me while lining up the ingredients for our meal. I roll the chicken in the bread crumb mixture after dipping it in the eggs. My hands feel pretty gross, but I’m enjoying the process as he instructs me what to do. He has me doing the majority of the work, with a watchful eye over everything. Once the chicken is in the oven, he sets a timer for when to start the pasta.

As I’m washing my hands, he slides behind me with his hands on my hips and leans down to kiss the top of my shoulder.

“So far nothing has been burned,” he whispers, kissing up the slope of my neck. My knees feel like noodles each time his mouth connects to my skin and it feels like my heart is fluttering.

“The chicken just went into the oven, there’s still time for me to ruin it.” I laugh lightly between catching my breath and angling my neck to give him more space to advance on.

“Have some faith in yourself. I won’t let you burn anything.” His hands grip my hips tighter as his lips reach that sensitive spot behind my ear. Then he starts to turn me around, keeping me trapped between his body and the kitchen sink. My hands find their place at his hips, which begin to close the distance between our bodies. His lips trail across my cheek to the corner of my mouth. I turn my head slightly to have his lips fully on mine and immediately open to him. Our tongues run against one another as his right hand goes into my hair and cradles the back of my head as his other hand continues to grip my waist firmly while pulling me into him. The timer on my oven begins blaring, interrupting the moment. We don’t pull away from one another at first until I give him a small push to break the kiss.

“We don’t want to burn dinner, right?” I smile, looking up to his parted lips as they form into a smile.

“Right. That would suck,” he says after a moment. “But that was only the first timer.”