J McKenna: Naughty girl

“That’s very good to hear, but he might have different ideas.” Carl hesitated, then took the plunge. “But if you two don’t get back together, would you object if I called you up and took you out sometime?”

She actually blushed. His dream-girl blushed! She looked down at the ground.

“I don’t know,” she said in that bedroom voice. Carl waited, his heart beating rapidly. “I’m still all mixed up.” She glanced up at his earnest face and seemed to soften. “Well, maybe.”

Carl’s head seemed to leave his shoulders. “S-sure.” He shifted position to conceal his growing erection. If Diedra noticed, she paid no attention. Carl felt he was carrying a surfboard in his pants.

“Let me give you my phone number.” She parted her full lips, waiting for him to get ready.

He reached into his pants pocket—careful, careful!—for a pen and he saw her gaze briefly drop, then snap up again as if she didn’t want him to catch her looking. Carl felt a flush of embarrassment creep up from his neck to his cheeks. He tried to adjust his pants to hide his erection and looked up to see redness creep up her neck as well. He made a big deal out of writing the number down on his palm, trying to cover up the awkward moment.

Diedra gave him the number, one digit at a time, at such a low pitch, Carl had to lean in to hear her. Her perfume mixed with the real woman odor of her and it triggered an animalistic reaction. All he wanted to do at that exact moment was thrust her up against the door, raise her skirt and see if his suspicions about her lack of panties were true. If they were, he wanted to take her right then and there. Carl tried not to shake as he wrote down the final digits.

Forcing himself to step back to keep his sanity, he started to write down her name over the number, for no reason other than to stall for time. When she reached out to touch his arm, he knew she felt some of that animal lust as well. It was as if she didn’t want him to move too far away. She wanted to prolong the moment just a little longer. Or so he hoped.

“How do you spell Diedra?” he asked, though he easily could’ve guessed.

Her lips parted. She licked them, a soft pink tongue caressing softer red lips. For some strange reason, he imagined them around the head of his cock and had to close his eyes against the image.

“Actually, my friends call me DeeDee.”

“DeeDee…that’s a nice name.” She could’ve said Bertha or Agnes and he’d have said the same thing. “A very nice name.”

He’d run out of things to stall about. He let his hand drop to his side. He wouldn’t wash it until that number was copied down in his little black book. His very thin little black book. His very thin little black book with moths flying out of it.

It had been a slow year.

“Well, I guess that’s it. You should be safe now, I expect. He probably won’t wake up until morning anyway.” Carl’s mind cast about for some other reason to stand there, talking. He grasped a sliver of an idea. “Of course, if he comes by and he’s really angry, you could call me. I mean, if you wanted to.”

Or she could call the police, you complete idiot!

DeeDee smiled again and it took all his concentration not to puddle at her feet like a schoolboy. “Sure. That would be real nice. But I don’t think it will come to that.”

“Just in case.” Carl started to give her his number then realized she had nothing to write on. He wouldn’t expect her to write it on her palm—that was far too crude for such an elegant woman.

She hesitated then began looking through her tiny purse for some scrap of paper and found none. Carl could see the wheels turning in her head. Did she invite him in or did she just tell him to forget the number for now, she’d get it later? Carl held his breath. His hard-on held its breath. The world stopped spinning on its axis.

Perhaps his earnest good looks helped her decide. “Okay, come in for a minute and let me get some paper. Just for a minute, you understand.”

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus .

Carl kept his face neutral, as if this meant nothing. His erection knew better. It swelled another notch. If she’d misplaced her keys, he could’ve used it as a battering ram against the door.

She unlocked the door and led the way inside. Carl shuffled in behind her, giving his crotch a glaring look when her back was turned. Not now! She turned on a lamp by the couch.

Her apartment had a casual look to it. A few newspapers and magazines lay scattered over the coffee table and the sofa, but it was otherwise well kept. The rug had recently been vacuumed, he could tell from the machine marks on the nap. Looking through the doorway into her darkened kitchen, Carl could see the table was clear of dirty dishes, yet there were a couple of cups and a plate on the counter near the coffee maker.

“Excuse the mess,” she said and he wanted to tell her, no, darling, it was perfect, just like you , but he said nothing.

She found a piece of paper and handed it to him. He carefully wrote down “Carl Harman” and the number in block figures so it would be easy to read. “There you go.” He handed it over. Fortunately, the cerebral act of writing helped diminish his cock somewhat. At least it was no longer threatening to take over the city like Godzilla.

They stood there for several seconds. Carl wanted to stay and he suspected she wanted him to, yet there was nothing else he could do to delay the inevitable.

“Well,” he said, and let it hang. Carl reached out and took her hand gently into his. It was almost hot to the touch. “I’ve really enjoyed meeting you.” He gave her hand a little squeeze.

He let it go and turned toward the door, defeated.

“Wait.”

He turned back, expectantly.

“You, um, you had a drink on the bar, I remember.”

He nodded. “A martini.” Carl struggled to think of something else. “I usually drink beer at home, but when I go out, I like martinis.”

Oh, great! Give her a rundown on my exciting alcohol choices! What next? I like a dry white wine with my fish?

“But you didn’t get to finish it. You left it when Frank tossed his drink at me.”

So that was the car salesman’s name. Frank. Frank the Fuck-up.

Carl waved a hand, ready to dismiss it as nothing then caught himself. She’s giving you an opening, you big fat idiot! Then something else occurred to him. She noticed a little detail like that? The drink I had on the bar? She must’ve been paying attention to me long before Frank went into his act!

“Um, would you like to go out for a drink?” He checked his watch. It was just past eleven-thirty. “The night’s still young.”

She looked coy and a little uncertain, as if she couldn’t believe she was doing this. “I have the makings for martinis right here, if that’s all right.”

All right? All right!? Like telling a kid it was all right if he wanted to run into a toy store and buy something. Or, more aptly, telling a tiger it was all right if he wanted to devour a gazelle. His semi-erect cock roared back to full alert status. Def-con 2. Carl thought it would poke out over his belt buckle. If it got any bigger, she’d run screaming from the room.

“That would be lovely.” Lovely? Do real men say lovely?

She turned, and for a moment in the lamplight, the way her skirt covered her shapely ass, he could’ve sworn she wasn’t wearing panties. He wondered if he would ever find out for sure, this night or any other.

“Make yourself at home,” she said over her shoulder. She went into the kitchen and fussed about. Carl heard glasses clinking and ice clanking. He didn’t know if he should stay in the living room or follow her into the kitchen. He decided to stay put and pressed his hand hard against his cock, trying to get it to calm down, just a little.