Baby Girl Read online

  From time-to-time I would wonder if this was one of the underlying reasons that I had never been in a relationship. If I allowed myself to care for a man, I would feel as if I had to please him, if I had to please him, I couldn’t tell him “no”, and if I couldn’t tell him no, I would be fulfilling his wants, needs, and desires. Making certain that he was always pleased would consume me, and that would allow me to have no life other than to please him. Pleasing him would be my life. I knew enough about myself to know if I cared about a man just a little bit, I would eventually be consumed by my own shortcomings.

  To think of it all made my head spin.

  Until I met Erik, I never really thought about it. The thoughts, generally speaking, entered my mind. On weekends, when I had idle time, I would think. When I got sick of my mind beating my soul to death, I would consume my day with activities. When I became still, or without tasks to deplete me, back to thinking I would go. The thoughts were always just general thoughts. What if this happens, Kelli? What about that, Kelli. Kelli, you’re fucking up, you need to drop that guy, and he’s getting attached. Kelli, Kelli, Kelli…

  Ohmyfcukinggodmyheadisgoingtoexplode.

  So, my idle time would be consumed by general thoughts about my desire to please men. With Erik, I was consciously thinking about these things. I was thinking about the fact that I wanted to please him. I was planning what I was going to do to please him. Ultimately, I was slowly becoming what I had feared for my entire life, a woman that is stuck and reliant upon a man.

  And in my short time on this earth, I have learned that men can’t keep a woman. Erik, by his own admittance to me, wouldn’t keep me. We weren’t, according to him, even in a relationship. It was a relationship, but it wasn’t. As soon as I fucked up, or as soon as he felt I needed him to survive, I would be tossed aside. He would spend a month, year, or decade recovering, and on to the next woman he would go.

  Even knowing these things about him didn’t stop me from wanting him. I wanted him more than I have ever wanted anything in my life. I want to please him, provide for him, make him happy, make him proud, and make him want me as much as I wanted him. The odds of that happening were slim, but I continued to feel that way.

  When we first started seeing each other, I felt like it was going to be nothing more than a few good weeks of fucking; just some really good sex. After a week, I started wondering what my friends may think about him being fifteen years older than me. I decided I wouldn’t tell them how old he was, and if they asked, I would say that I didn’t know his age. After a few weeks, I didn’t care about what anyone might think. I only thought of Erik, and what his desires with me were. Fulfilling those desires were all that really mattered to me after spending a few weeks of time with Erik.

  I am beginning to understand what it feels like to actually experience having loving thoughts for someone other than a family member. The irony in the entire situation was that Erik would eventually want to stop seeing me, and at some point in time, the summer would end, and I was to go to New York to school.

  The question, I suppose, is which one would come first. For fear of Erik reacting with immediate rejection, I decided not to tell him of my commitment to my father or about school. I did not want this to end, at least not by my making.

  Driving to meet Erik for lunch, I yearned for him to touch me, to tell me to do something. To hear him call me baby girl. To place his hands on my neck and squeeze it lightly as he spoke to me. To press me against the wall and have his way with me. Every time we met, he became a little bit more in control of me. Partially because I became more willing to try to make him want me, and partially because he was beginning to include more challenging sexual tasks in our time together.

  Thinking of Erik and lunch, I began to tingle. We were to meet at Il Vicino again. A simple thought of that place made me wet. As I exited the highway onto Rock road, I crossed my legs. His hands. His posture. His voice. His smell. His presence. Erik. Fucking. Ead.

  Ohmyfcukinggodmyheadisgoingtoexplode.

  ERIK. It was cool for the middle of the month. Typically, in July, the weather would be in excess of 100 degrees. It was 80 degrees and 10:30 a.m., but the forecast called for a high of 85. It had been fabulous summer for riding motorcycles. We had received more rain than normal, and the lakes and rivers were full of water for once, after about ten consecutive years of some form of a drought. The rain that we had received was mostly at night, and had not hindered riding, as most days had been sunny after the previous night’s rain.

  She smiled as she stepped over the small stone wall into the patio area. As soon as I saw her approach, I stood. Walking her direction, I opened my arms to welcome her. Greetings and departures for me had always included a hug. Male or female companions received the same thing from me. If someone wouldn’t hug me, I was never comfortable that they were genuine.

  “How’s my baby girl?” I asked as we embraced.

  “I love it when you call me that,” she responded.

  “I know you do, Kelli. I know you do.”

  “I’m great, now,” she said, stepping back and scrutinizing my attire.

  “You dress so simple, but you always look so good,” she said, chuckling as she said good.

  “Thank you, Kelli. I appreciate the compliments.”

  As always, I had worn a dark tee shirt and dark jeans. The tee shirt fit tight to my body, but was not a tight tee shirt. One of my pet peeves was to see a guy that wore what we always had jokingly called a shmedium shirt, a cross between a small and a medium. Clearly, most who wore a shmedium shirt needed a large. My shirts fit tight because of my body structure, and not because I bought them smaller than they should be.

  “I love the way you smell. You always smell the same. The other day at work, a guy walked past me, and he was wearing that cologne, Yves Saint Laurent. The L’Homme. I actually got mad, because he smelled like you. I didn’t change how I felt when I smelled it.”

  “How was that, Kelli?”

  “You know,” she responded.

  “No, I want you to tell me. Tell me, Kelli.”

  “Oh, God. Well, I…I started thinking of you. Just, I suppose, in general. But my thoughts about you are always thoughts that end up in the gutter,” she said, smiling.

  She was wearing shorts, a tee shirt, and Chucks. Girls in canvas sneakers, especially Converse Chucks made me weak. I always found the canvas sneakers to be a tremendous turn-on; probably to the same degree that most men perceived girls in high heels. Chucks, to me, were an 8” come fuck me pump. As I admired her outfit, I realized we were still standing by the wall.

  “Let’s sit, Kelli. I have already ordered for us both,” I said as I took a step in the direction of the table.

  I walked toward the table to sit down, and pulled out a chair for her. I walked to the other side of the table and sat, crossing my legs. As we began to talk, I watched her mouth move, her lips form words, and her hands move as she spoke - making gestures to compliment the verbal communication she offered.

  “I love listening to you speak, Kelli. The silence between your words annoys me. I prefer that you speak constantly, and never stop. Something about hearing you talk comforts me or turns me on. Or both.”

  “I’m glad you like to hear me talk. It makes me feel good that you say that, whether or not you mean it,” she responded.

  “Kelli, let me tell you something. If I say something to you, I mean it. Always. I have no reason to tell you something that isn’t true. Do you understand me?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said, looking down at her feet as she responded.

  “Come here, Kelli,” I said in a sharp tone, pointing to the area beside my chair.

  She promptly stood from the chair, and walked to where I had pointed. Standing on my right side, and looking at me with disappointment, she tried to speak. When she opened her mouth, words didn’t immediately form. She coughed and began to try again to speak.

  “I’m sorry,” she offered, looking down a
t me as I sat in my chair.

  “Bend down here, Kelli,” I said in a soft yet demanding tone.

  As she bent at the waist, lowering her head to my level, I turned toward her. I reached up, placing my right hand on the back of her neck, and slid it to her hair line. Grasping her neck slightly, I pulled her head close to my mouth and turned it to my left, exposing her left side to my face. With my left hand, I reached across her face and moved her hair over the top of her ear. I began to speak into her ear, breathing in an exaggerated form, forcing my breath into her ear as I spoke.

  “Kelli, who owns you?” I asked.

  “You do, Erik. You do, sir,” she responded, exhausting herself of breath as she spoke.

  “That’s right, I do. Now, Kelli, what are you going to do when I ask you to do something?” I asked, my lips lightly touching her ear as I spoke. I reached around her with my left hand, and placed my hand on her upper thigh, directly under her shorts. I cupped her thigh with my left hand, squeezing lightly.

  “Do it,” she said as her knees bent.

  “You certainly will, Kelli. You certainly will,” I whispered into her ear.

  She straightened her legs, locking her knees, but remained bent over. I slid my left hand under her shorts, and between her legs. She was well beyond moist. With my index finger, I began slide up and down the length of her wetness. She began to moan lightly as my finger slid up and down, lightly touching her wet lips.

  “Kelli,” I whispered into her ear as she moaned, “slowly rotate to your left, and place your hands on the table. Both palms, flat on the table, and do not move. Do you understand?”

  “Uh huh,” she nodded her head as she spoke.

  I removed my right hand from her neck, and kept my left hand in her shorts. She began to rotate to the right, and quickly realized - as my hand slid away - that she was going the wrong direction.

  “The other left, Kelli,” I said quietly.

  She nodded, as if in a trance, and turned the other direction. As she rotated, I pressed a little more with the palm of my hand against the gap between her thighs. As she began to place her hands on the table, I pressed my palm hard against her, keeping my index finger on the outside of her wet lips.

  “Bend, Kelli, bend over. Put your fucking hands down on the table, and bend over. Do not move, just bend over,” I directed.

  As her body bent at the waist, her knees went from bent to locked, and back to bent; over and over. Like a child, nervously in a rocking chair, she continued to bend her knees, rocking her muscular butt up and down. I shoved my index finger inside of her up to the web of the finger. As if I were pointing my finger, I slid in and out of her wet pussy, purposely causing my lower knuckles to bump against her clit as I slid into her deeply. I counted, quietly out loud, as I slid my finger in and out.

  Reaching to the middle of her back, I collected her hair in my hand. I grasped it firmly, and slowly pulled it tight. Gradually pulling additional pressure, I stopped as her back began to arch. She had a faultless body. In this position, she defined perfection. He perfectly rounded ass was pointing upward, as her knees were bent significantly. Her lower back was arched, and her upper back was raised, her palms flat on the table, her arms locked at the elbows. With my right elbow in the center of her lower back, and her hair in my hand, I pressed against her lower back with my elbow, and pulled her hair to the left. As her head turned slightly to the left, I straightened my posture to speak into her ear.

  “Kelli, I am going to count to twelve. Each time I count, I am going to slide my finger deep inside of you, and then pull it out. And when I slide it in, I am going to bang my knuckles against your little swollen clit. Do you hear me?” I asked, scanning the patio to confirm that we were still alone.

  “Uh,” she squeaked in an almost inaudible tone.

  “I will take that as a yes. You will, Kelli, cum on the twelfth stroke, do you understand me?” I asked in a low demanding tone.

  “I, uh, I…don’t know if I…ok. Ok, Twelve. Oh God. Ok,” she said in short quick breaths.

  Immediately, I slid my finger inside of her as deeply as I could, making certain that my lower knuckles bumped against her clit. As soon as my knuckle touched her clit, I pulled her hair taught. I slowly slid it out completely, clearing her lips with the tip of my finger.

  “One,” I whispered sharply into her ear.

  Repeating the process, I began to tease her.

  “All the way in…all the way out. Two.”

  “All the way in, oh my God, Kelli, you’re so wet. You feel that?”

  “Yes. Yes…,” she pressed her ass toward me, pushing her clit harder against my knuckles.

  “All the way out. Three,” I said as the tip of my finger cleared her wet lips.

  “In. Out. Four. In, and out. Five. In, and out. Six. Half way there, baby girl. We’re half way there,” I said, pressing my elbow against her back, pulling her hair slightly tighter.

  “In…who owns you, baby girl?” I asked, pressing my finger inside of her, and holding there.

  “Who? Who owns you?” I repeated, whispering in her ear.

  “You, sir. Oh God, you do,” she answered, getting louder as she answered.

  “That’s right, you…are…mine. Seven,” I said as I slid my finger out.

  As I pressed my finger inside of her again, I released her hair, and slid my hand to her neck, cupping my palm around her clavicles, and began squeezing her lower neck with my thumb and fingers. As I slid my finger out, I squeezed her neck a little more.

  “Eight, Kelli. I want you to cum, cum now,”

  “Oh God. Oh God, Erik. Ok,” she said in short choppy breaths.

  As I squeezed her neck steadily, I began to quickly slide my finger in and out, as fast as I could. She was wet enough that her inner thighs were covered in her wetness. My finger slid in and out with ease.

  “Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Cum, Kelli, cum for me. Fourteen. Cum. Fifteen. Cum, you sexy little bitch, cum. Sixteen. Cum. For. Me,”

  She began to contract and her knees locked. As they did, I began to slide my finger in and out as quickly as I could, being careful not to allow it to slide all the way out. As she began to moan, I buried my finger deeply into her, and pressed my knuckles into her clit. Rotating my hand back and forth, massaging her clit, her body shuddered.

  “Oh fuck, Erik. Oh. My. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck,” she said loudly as pulled herself away from my hand.

  “What the fuck are you doing to me?” she asked, turning to face me.

  Grasping the inner portion of her shorts, she tried to reposition them, as if she felt exposed. Her entire body shook in an exaggerated fashion, and she bent her knees.

  “What the fuck,” she said again, still standing directly in front of me, looking down at me admiringly. She smiled lightly, her lips pursed.

  “Is there a problem, Kelli?” I asked.

  “I’m weak for you.” she answered, and then continued, “You make me cum so hard, so easily. It’s like you have some way to crawl into my mind. I both love you and hate you for it.”

  “Oh really,” I responded.

  “Oh, God. I didn’t mean that. The love part. You know what I meant,” she apologized.

  “You’re fine, Kelli. I know what you mean,” I responded, nodding my head.

  She went back to her seat and sat down. As she reached for her purse, her hands were clearly shaking. I debated whether or not to mention it. I decided there was nothing to lose in doing so, and I brought it up.

  “Your hands, they’re shaking,” I stated, pointing to her outstretched arm.

  “Yours would be shaking, too. If I was you, and you were me, you’d shake. I guarantee it. You do something to me, Erik. Something no one else has ever done, and probably never will do. You told me you were going to ruin me. Well, congratulations, I am officially ruined. Smelling you makes me wet. Seeing you makes my heart race. Having you touch me, touch me anywhere…makes me shiver. Having you bring me to orgasm makes me sha
ke. The aftermath of an orgasm with you, the post-coital state…is beyond any other orgasm I have ever had. Ever. Just the aftershock,” she tossed her purse in the center of the table and held her hand out, palm down, arm outstretched.

  Her hand was clearly shaking. She attempted for a few seconds to hold it still as it continued to shake. Laughing, she pulled her hand back and placed in in her lap. I admired the color of her hair, and almost blue-black. The color of her hair suited her so well. Straight and black, very healthy looking. The color complimented her skin tone, and her skin complimented her hair; a perfect match. Lost in admiration of her gorgeous natural features, I realized she was speaking.

  “…and then I want you to pull it out and bend me over. So, what do you think?” she said

  “Excuse me?” I asked, only hearing a portion of what she had said.

  “You want me to repeat it?” she asked, looking puzzled.

  “I’m sorry, baby girl, I didn’t hear you,” I offered as I crossed my legs, and leaned forward.

  Smiling, she began to speak again. “I love it when you call me that. How could anyone ever get sick of you? Ok. What I said was this. I want to suck your cock. I want you to put your hands on my throat, and squeeze it. I want you to fuck my mouth until my eyes water. And then I want you to pull your cock out of my mouth, and bend me over and fuck me. Ragged. Fuck me ragged Erik,” she said, leaning closer to me as she spoke.

  “You said all of that?”

  “No, I added to it. I want you to let me suck your cock, we’ll start there. That’s a good beginning. I want your big cock in my mouth, Erik; let me suck it.”

  “Damn, Kelli. You’re wound up, aren’t you?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You just finger fucked me into a coma while I was bent over a table in a public outdoor restaurant -- while people walked by on the sidewalk. I felt like that orgasm was extracted from my chest, through my soul, and exited out my pussy, Erik. Have you ever had an orgasm like that? I fucking doubt it. I like fucking you, and I fucking like you. Make note of that. Put it in your Outlook in that outdated Blackberry you carry. Make a permanent note of it, Kelli likes fucking me.”