River Walk: Ten Kinky Collaborations (18 page)

“Could you point me in the direction of the grocery store?”

“Are you Roy’s guest?” I look at him in utter shock.

“What?!” I’m sure I didn’t hear him correctly. “WHAT?!” I demand.

“Sorry ma’am. I just heard he has a pretty model type staying over at the ranch.” I turn and look around and lock eyes with an elderly lady smiling and holding chocolate flavored Ensure.

“Roy is a real nice boy. I’ve known him all my life, and he has that shop over there. They have always done right by everyone in this town. That’s hard to find, you know? Someone who is trustworthy with your cars. It can be real expensive.”

I don’t bother saying anything else. I shake my head and walk out the door, and then I turn right back around and grab my plastic bag off the counter. “Ma’am, don’t forget your thongs!” I whirl around in anger. I have had about enough of these nosy people! The associate is holding up my new shoes “Flip-flops! Those are flip-flops!”

I blow out a breath. My New York is showing again. I thought I was different, but I am a royal bitch of the third order. I stomp to a raised flower pot, and I sit down on the ledge and pull my dusty flats off. I examine them and wonder if I will ever get the devil dust out of the grooves of the knot. I slip on the
flip-flops
. This calls for a smoke. Then I pull up my map app on my phone and enter ‘grocery store’ into the search. ‘No results found’ “For fucks sake!” I shout to no one in particular. I take that as a sign to head back to Roy’s.

Thankfully Roy still isn’t home. I don’t think my New York attitude can be suppressed after my little jaunt into this good for nothing place. I kick off my blister producers and throw them into the trash. I grab the salt and head to the bathroom. I turn the water on warm and dump a ton of salt under the stream. I roll up my jeans while the water turns cloudy. I sit on the bath ledge, swivel around and slowly dip my toes in. The sting of the water lets me know I have enough salt in the water. I watch the water slowly come up past my ankles. My dirty feet turn the water to a tinge of brown. I learned this little salt trick after runway shows. My feet took a beating from all the footwear. The salt water helps disinfect the blisters and dries them up faster. Popping them leads to scarring. They should be completely gone in two days.

I flip through the magazine, but my mind is already off snooping around. I guess I caught the same condition everyone else has around here. When in Nosy-Roseyville, you might as well do as the Nosy’s do. I go to the one and only door that hasn’t been opened. I feel so guilty, but my curiosity overrides the guilt. Slowly I push open the door, and the light immediately shows the dust particles dancing in the air. The door hits something stopping it from opening further. I peer around the back of the door to find it’s filled with boxes and rubber totes. I contort my body, maneuvering into the room. I’m not sure where to start. I open the closest cardboard box, and it’s filled with unopened mail. I move over to another box that is partially open. Bubble wrap is stuffed inside. I carefully peel it away exposing a bronze cow. I turn the box to read the plaque at the bottom. Stamped in fancy scrip it reads ‘Presented to Roy Nelson for 8 years of service for The Cattlemen’s Association Chapter 12 District 9.’ I grow more and more curious about his family. I find all kinds of awards and acknowledgements for all aspects of the livestock industry.

I open a few more totes, and then I find a picture of a boy standing on a railing overlooking some water and a sign posted in the distance that says ‘San Antonio River Walk.’ I dig a little further and find more pictures, mostly of Roy. He appears so happy and content in these photos. His little cowboy boots are the cutest. His hair has a severe part and appears to be gelled into place. His little jeans and button up shirt make him look like a little man. A few pictures have him wearing an off-white cowboy hat, and it’s completely adorable.

I hear something and realize that I have been digging around his personal memories for hours. I decide to get out of there before I get caught. I try to get everything back in its place.

As I walk out to the couch, I hear the rumble of an engine. Out of panic, I sprint to the bedroom. I sit on the bed, bouncing my knee. It feels awkward and forced so I lay down with my magazine. Straining to hear him, I can make out keys jingling, maybe his boots hitting the floor. I’m not entirely sure. Finally, footsteps head my way. My heart begins to beat erratically. I expect at least a knock to give me a second to gather myself, but he barges in.

“You know you aren’t confined to this room.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m going to shower and then start our dinner.”

He’s in no better of a mood. He looks even grumpier tonight. “Or we could go out?” I don’t know if I can take him like this with nowhere to go.

“I think you had enough of the town today.” With that, he turns out of the room.

“What? How? Shit, never mind!” I throw my magazine down beside me.

I can’t help myself. I lay there and pout. This town is like something out of a really bad B movie, and I’m stuck here for at least another day. This is not what I had planned for this adventure across country.

I lay on my bed and try to figure out how I want to approach tonight. I feel like I want to confront him on his moodiness. Maybe he isn’t aware of it. Then my phone rings. It’s my mom. I chat with her for twenty minutes assuring her everything is going as planned. My next move evolves.

Fucking hell.
He’s in basketball shorts without a shirt. There’s just something about a guy cooking without a shirt on. He’s not overly built. He’s nicely toned, with all these little nicks and scars on him from working on trucks, and growing up on a ranch I assume. Each one a mark of adventure and information. I want to learn more about these little adventures. I pull out a stool, and he pulls what I thought was a towel out from his waist band, but to my surprise it’s a t-shirt. He pulls it over his head. Bummer, but it makes this a little easier to handle. It’s not so much that he’s visually appealing, as much as he’s tactile. I know what that skin feels like and smells like. Showing too much is too tempting and distracting.

“What’s cookin’ tonight?”

“Roasted chicken, wild rice pilaf, and steamed broccoli.” His words are so automatic. I just feel like such a burden being here. I watch as he opens a bottle of white wine, pours two glasses, turns and sets one in front of me. Then he goes right back to work.

“You don’t have to go to all this trouble. I’m easy.” He looks over his shoulder at me, only then my last two words seeming more suggestive than I meant. “I mean, I’m easy to please…in the food department.”

“I usually cook a little something for myself every night. It relaxes me.”

“It relaxes you?”

“Yes.” His words are so clipped. I just sit there silently while I watch him. I want to offer to help, but he seems so agitated already. So I sit there as he pats dry a chicken corpse, then seasons it, washes his hands, then sips his wine. He is completely unfazed by me. I can’t take the silence any longer.

“Tell me about your parents.”

“They died.” He gets right to the point, so I decide to try this again.

“Tell me a little about Roy. Nothing too personal, but maybe a little known fact about you, like your hobbies.”

“Tell me about
you
.” I drink my wine like a shot. I’m not getting anywhere with him, and I don’t want to be rude because I am in his home.

Dinner was good, but awkward as hell. He was very short with me and unfriendly during dinner. I was really looking forward to tonight, maybe a little apprehensive too. I was thinking maybe we could have another go-around, but now I have the feeling that he felt like that was a mistake.

He says nothing, so I head to my room. This day was more taxing than I anticipated. I pick up the plastic bag from earlier, ready to dispose of it. It’s heavy for an empty bag. I had forgotten all about the nail polish. I shake it up vigorously. I decide to get ready for bed so when I’m done I can just lay back and go to sleep while the enamel dries.

I hustle down the hall to the bathroom to brush my hair out, then my teeth. I wash my face and rub crème on my eyes. I take my coconut oil and rub it on my face, the ends of my hair and then any exposed skin.

Then back to my room shucking off my jeans, followed by my shirt and bra. I find my tank top and slip it over my head. As I unrolled the tight fabric, I noticed the maroon-purplish marks on my stomach. They’re from the counter top. I quiver in anguish recalling my out of mind and body sexual experience I had last night.

I sit on the bed and pick at my toes. Most of my toe nails have dirt under them. My only choice is to paint over them until I get to California. It’s going to take at least three coats of enamel. I have nothing else to do except sit and think myself into a bad mood, so I take my time with each tiny nail. I run my thumb nail along the crease of my nail and skin removing the excess that has pooled. Once I’m finished, I sit back moving my feet left to right while flexing my toes admiring my work. Just as I decide to lay down the door swings open.

Roy stands there dauntingly.

That tingly feeling hits me with a blow I have never felt before. I feel wetness saturate my panties, and I slam my legs closed like a steel trap. I don’t want to look him in the eyes. I can never read them. He can shrink me with just his eyes, and I already feel vulnerable enough.

Like lightening striking, he is kneeling at my knees. I look into his eyes, and they have a hint, just a glimmer of vulnerability too, so I relax. His warm hands grip my legs just under my knees pulling them apart. I expect an apology, but instead his fingers move my panties to one side, and my skin tingles. I can’t get a handle on this guy. He runs hot and cold. I blink trying to gain some awareness. I close my eyes lowering my expectations. Then my legs are forced apart. My eyes fly open as scruff scrapes the tender flesh of the inside of my thighs.

I scream out as my clit is sucked so hard between his lips that sharp sparks of light dance behind my eyes. Just as fast as the pain came, the pleasure was right behind it. What?! “No, no!” I try to protest. My words are weak at best. I start to move my hands to push him away. I am not completely comfortable with someone’s face between my legs. It has always has felt sloppy and completely awkward to me. I can’t comprehend how this can be beneficial to the person exercising the act.

“You don’t want to mess up that pretty polish job you just did. Hands on the bed.”

I don’t believe it’s the actual act of him using his mouth on me, as much as it is just
him
. He just does something to me. It’s indescribable.

I fall onto my back as he pulls and twists my tits while he licks, sucks, and flicks me into a series of orgasms. I am so satisfied, more satisfied than I’ve ever been. Just as I think that his strange, but perfect kind of apology is over, he slips his dick inside of me, pulls it out and rubs my mess all over his shaft.

“You ever had that ass fucked?”

I couldn’t even form a thought or sentence. I’ll admit, I have a morbid curiosity to this new violation of my body. I’m blushing; I can feel red creeping up my cheeks. He takes that as my answer. I was expecting him to flip me over like he did last night, but he has me plant my feet farther apart on the bed. I watch as he aims his head right at my tightness. He leans in. The intrusion was much more uncomfortable than I imagined. I felt every muscle cease up in my body. I go from wet noodle to rigid plank in a split second.

He was in, not all the way in when he stilled, his fingers were slowly slipping in and out of my vag. My body was slowly starting to adjust to the new sensation. “Good, now I want you to touch yourself. Just lightly.” As I touch myself, my lower back hits the mattress. I hadn’t realized I came up off of the bed. The initial burn must have caused the involuntary action.

“Relax, push on to me, and open yourself up to me.”

I slowly push down on him, and he fills me slowly. “Don’t stop playing with your clit. You need to be nice and turned on.” I was concentrating on my ass, but I began to move my fingers, and he began to fuck me. The feeling was so different and intense. I felt myself building to a peak I had never known.

“Stop.” I look at him, with a plea in my eyes. My lips pouting with a beg on the tip of my tongue. He slips two fingers inside me, hooking them upward, while he continues to fuck my ass. It’s like a trigger, making my legs fall open and causing my head to thrash from side to side. I get light headed as every sensation converges to my middle. My body wrings so tight, like a demon trying to be exorcised, and then I explode. My orgasm deflates me, while I shake with eruptions of pleasure. I can feel his dick pulse in my ass and get more turned on.

We both try to catch our breath, slumped together in a heavy mess. “Your car will be done before noon tomorrow.” He pulls out and the burn returns for an instant. I know he hasn’t fully come down from his release, but he grabs his shorts and is out the door without another word.

I lay there confused. He cut me open and left me to bleed out all by myself. Anger sears me. I sit up still light headed. I can do a hook-up, but he doesn’t have to be so damn frigid all the time. I pull my top back down over my hard as rock nipples, but I just get even more agitated from it sticking and fighting me from my sweaty skin.

Standing, I kick my panties to the side, and then grab a clean pair along with my smokes. I head for the door, but turn away. I can’t deal with him. I might snap if I encounter his callousness again.

I pull the blinds up and try to slide the window open. Instead a cloud of dust aimed right for my face comes rushing toward me. “Son of a bitch. Why can’t anything be fucking easy around here? Everything is such a fucking tedious task.” I’m beyond frustrated. I’m full on furious and need a hit of nicotine. I wiggle, push and pull at the rusted latch on the window trying to get it to budge. Finally, it loosens, and the track is so dingy that the window hangs up every few centimeters. It’s barely open enough for me to blow my exhale out of.