Her Teddy Bear

This story you're ogling on your hot little digital device is about 14,550 words, or 58 book pages long. This short story is split into three parts, with each one being suitable for a quick lunch time read, or perhaps a snack before bedtime. You can certainly devour the entire story in one sitting.

WARNING:
This story contains super-hot sex and erotic scenes, M/F. For adults, 18+ only.

When my sister Nikki first told me about the blind date, I said to her, “If he's so freakin' fantastic, why don't YOU go out with him?”

That was when I found out my big sister had an aversion to body hair. She'd always been a little odd, starting with plucking her eyebrows to thin lines when we were teens, and now, waxing everything, including her arms, but I had no idea this policy extended to other people.
To men.

“Exactly
how
hairy is this Trevor guy?” I asked.

We were sitting on the back porch of our parents' house, as we usually did every Sunday night. Dad was futzing around with the pork chops on the new barbecue (this one was hooked into the gas line, so nobody had to go on propane runs mid-meal anymore). I was comfortable there, on the porch, with my mojito in hand. Maybe too comfortable, and that was Nikki's point, I think.

“He's a grown man,” she said, not answering my question about hairiness.

“Sasquatch hairy?”

She rolled her eyes. “Grow up, Naomi. You can't be a kid forever, getting taken care of by Mom and Dad.”

Just then, my mother came by to freshen my beverage, unwittingly proving my big sister's point. Yeah, I was comfortable, and I didn't want to grow up. I'd moved back in with my parents after college to save some money, whereas Nikki was moving up the corporate ladder while paying off loans and renting a house with friends.

Mom paused, pitcher in hand, keenly aware that a sisterly conflict of sorts was brewing. “What's up?”

Nikki said, “I've got a fantastic guy for Naomi, but she's being stubborn and won't go.”

Mom did that audible intake of breath, the one she does right before she picks my sister's side.

“Oh, I'm
going
on the date,” I said, cocky as hell, thanks to my second mojito. “I'm just pulling your leg, Nik. He sounds great, really.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Really.”

I locked gazes with her. “Really.”

And that was how I got roped into a stupid blind date with some divorced lonely dude from her office. I anticipated nothing short of full-scale disaster. Poor bugger was probably in love with my sister, anyway, and agreed to go out with me to curry favor with Nikki the hairless wonder.

At least that was what I was thinking five days later, when I got dressed up for the date, putting on my trashiest, skankiest, nastiest bar outfit, with fishnets and everything.

* * *

Friday

When Mom saw me pop upstairs for a glass of water before going on my blind date, she said, “No.”

“Too much?” I looked down at the bustier I'd bought for a midnight performance of
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
. Performing had been a big part of my college experience, with all my theater major friends. The sparkling, gold-hued bustier almost fit, almost kept my boobs under control.

She said, “Not
too much
, no. More like not enough.”

“Ha ha,” I said. I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror and saw what she saw: a carnival freak. A
fun
carnival freak, but a slutty one.

Mom said, “That doesn't give a good first impression.”

I bit my lip. She was right.

I'd sworn off sex, as it always turned into a disaster for me, and there was no way I'd be boinking my sister's lame co-worker, so I didn't want to give him the wrong impression. It would make me feel good to have him eyeballing my cleavage, but I didn't want to have to fend him off all night either. Besides, we were going to a movie. And that movie was not
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
.

My head hanging low, I clomped back to my room and got changed into something a little more Mom-approved.

I wanted to scare the heck out of this work-friend of Nikki's, really give them all something to talk about at the office, but I could do that in a more demure outfit. I could probably do it with my personality alone, really.

I put on cable-knit tights, a blue pencil skirt, and a fitted T-shirt with pale pink and cream stripes. The ensemble was cute, spunky, and didn't clash with my blue and black hair. The skirt matched perfectly.

Back in the kitchen again, my mother gave her approval. All was perfect for about ten seconds, and then she spoke wistfully of how she missed my natural hair color, brown.

“But I suit blue hair,” I said.

“You suit brown hair too, sweetie. And it looks nicer.” She grabbed my hair and frowned. “So damaged. All split ends.”

I groaned and felt about fourteen again.

The doorbell rang.

My heart fluttered with excitement, which surprised the hell out of me. Was I actually excited about my sister's lame, hairy co-worker? And it wasn't just my heart, either, but an equally fluttery and delicious feeling happened between my legs.

That sensation, that insta-lust, must have been triggered when I saw his shape. Through the privacy-etched glass panels to the sides of the front door, I could make out his large frame. He was a tall one. Big.

The usually-quiet flesh within my panties began to throb, aching with desire.

Big.

I opened the front door, expecting his actual dorky appearance to blow out the candle flame of my desire, but seeing him had the exact opposite reaction.

He was huge, well over six feet tall, which made him way bigger than my dad. I'm petite, and the people in my family are all small, and I tend to date skinny dudes who are really into art and listening to music, not going to the gym.

“Trevor MacIntyre,” he said, extending one big mitt of a hand toward me. “You're even cuter than Nikki said.”

“Nikki said I was cute?” I let him shake my hand in his nice, warm palm. His knuckles were covered in dark hair that ran up to his wrists and under his leather jacket.

“She didn't mention the blue hair,” he said, “but that's okay.” He had a beard, and he grinned, his thick lips revealing some manly chompers and a friendly smile. “I like surprises.”

“Me too.”

My mother snuck up behind me and reached her arm around me to shake his hand as well. I could see by her body posture she was taken in by his charm. She asked him about where we were going (dinner and a movie) and how he got into real estate development (family business) and then told him, and I kid you not, “Naomi doesn't have a curfew. So you kids have fun.”

I stared at my mother, my mouth open in shock.
Really? Really, Mom? Why don't you just write him a permission slip to have sex with me?

He told her we had a lovely home, and he admired the landscaping out front.

Scowling at her, I said, “Don't worry, Mom. I'll be home at a decent time. I wouldn't want to keep you and Dad up.”

She waved her hand at me, while eyeballing Trevor. “Don't be silly,” she said between giggles.

I hugged and kissed her goodbye, then stepped out and shut the door behind me.

Trevor gave me a big smile and said, jokingly, “Wow, your mother's really protective of you. What's your father like?”

“About the same, but less flirty.”

Trevor opened the door of his vehicle, a sporty and very tall truck, and said, “I bet he's nice. Nikki's a real sweetheart at the office, so it's no surprise her family is so cool.”

I stared at the big step up to the seat of the truck.

“That's a big truck,” I said. It was a long way, and with my short legs combined with my tight skirt, me getting in on my own wasn't going to happen.

“It's practical,” he said. “Because of the business. Sometimes I have to pitch in and haul equipment on or off a work site, or signage. Lots of signage.”

We stood there making small talk about signage and cargo space for a few minutes, until finally I said, “You're going to have to lift me up into your big truck.”

He glanced down at my little feet, in my ballet flats, and laughed—a big, hearty, manly laugh, like
oh-ho-ho
, but not in a Santa Claus way.

Then he swept me up, in his arms, cradling me. He picked me up as easily as a bag of chips, and my heart skipped a little. I thought of kissing him on those red-hued lips of his, being tickled by his dark mustache and beard hair. I'd never kissed anyone with facial hair before, and I wondered …

He set me into the leather seat and lingered, giving me a good smell of him. The vehicle smelled new and leathery, and Trevor smelled like the smallest hint of cologne and something else, like a moisturizer or a hair product, that made me think he'd had a shower right before picking me up.

We locked gazes. He had orange-brown eyes, flecked with black and gold, and his pupils were dilated, hungry for me.
Very interested.

His chest rumbled with his deep voice as he withdrew his hands from under my legs and behind my back, saying, “Comfy? Need any help with the seat belt?”

I fought the urge to grab his cheeks in my hands and kiss him right there. “I got it, thanks.”

He closed my door gently and walked around to his side.

That pause.

That pause when you're in the vehicle's passenger seat, and your date is walking around to the driver's side. Isn't that the greatest five seconds ever?

It's a beginning.

It's full of possibilities.

I rubbed my thighs together.

He was so hot, so fucking hot and manly, and all those things I didn't know I even wanted.

But it had been a long time for me.

My last boyfriend had come out as gay not long after we split up (this happened about a year earlier), which had made me question my entire dating approach. I didn't trust my instincts anymore. Couldn't trust my heart or that naughty pussy between my legs. My pussy always wanted things that were wrong for me, wanted sex immediately, without taking time.

So, I'd taken a vow of chastity, and so far I'd kept it. Without sex or a man in my life, I'd had plenty of time for other things, like my job, and drawing and … nothing quite as good as sex.

The driver's side door opened, and he stepped easily into his seat with those long legs. As Trevor put the keys in the ignition, he turned and gave me this flirty look, this look that said we weren't going to dinner after all, but back to his place. And he was going to tear off my clothes and fuck me until I became addicted to his sex, his petite sex slave, begging for his cock, day and night, dressing up in corsets and kinky boots and sashaying in front of him to distract him from the TV and whatever else he liked to do.

He said, “Whatcha thinkin' about there, Naomi?”

“Stuff.”

He drove down the street, looking carefully before crossing intersections, and stopping for pedestrians. “What kinda stuff?”

I licked my lips. “Just that I haven't been on a date in a long time.”

He glanced over at me. Oh, he knew what I meant by
date
.

With that sexy, deep voice, he said, “How long has it been?”

I tensed my thighs, pulsing them while I thought. “Hmm, maybe … almost a year, I guess.” It was October, so it had been ten months since that awful Christmas.

“Did Nikki tell you I'm divorced?”

Did she? I couldn't remember anything. I hadn't been paying attention. “Honestly, Trevor, she told me a bunch of stuff, but I wasn't listening, because I thought you were going to be gross.”

He laughed. “Gross. Thanks. I assume by saying that, you are telling me I'm
not
gross.”

I glanced around the interior of the vehicle, looking for clues about Trevor. The truck's cab was rental-clean, with no clues. “You're hunky,” I said.

“Hunky!” He slapped the steering wheel and laughed. “You mean chunky, right?”

I glanced down at his mid-section, from what I could see under his button-down shirt, what wasn't covered by his leather jacket. He wasn't the skinniest guy in the world, and a few years older than me, maybe thirty, but he looked good. He looked cuddly, like a teddy bear.