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Cupid's Project

By: moonlitclover



*** Author's Note: The "ad" in my story is Full of typos, grammatical errors and, well, just crappy writing nonsense but I assure you it is Part of the story, so please bear with it. :) I also had to blank out the email addresses I made up for the characters to comply with Lit's rules, so please don't think I was being uninventive. Oh, and please don't forget to vote. Happy Valentine's Day! 

Prologue

"Dear Lady, be cautious of Cupid, List well to the lines of this verse,To be kissed by a fool is stupid, To be fooled by a kiss is worse." -- Ambrose Redmoon

* * * * *

Ladies, is your man meeting your needs? (Phoenix, Mesa, Scottsdale, Tempe)

Date: 2010-01-03, 6:59AM MST Reply to: anonymous email address protected by the system [Errors when replying to ads?]

No man around to fulfill your needs? The man you do have is leaving you unsatisfied and your honey do list just keeps growing? Who you gonna call, NOT Ghost Busters! They don't call me Sheetrock for nothing!

Though I prefer building/fixing, I will even go shopping with you and tell you how your ass looks in those jeans. I can pretty much handle anything you may need. Im great with my hands. So whatever your needs may be, all you have to do is ask. My services include but are not limited to:

Interior and exterior painting, Electrical work, Plumbing repair, Garage clearing, Furniture assembly, Roofing (how are your shingels), Hanging blinds and window treatments (or we can leave the windows open and the lights on, you choose), Sheetrock repair and patches, Door installs, Tile/Flooring install/repair/removal, Waste hauling including old cars, trucks, motorcycles and boats or other junk he thought you needed (or him if your just done), Framing, Demolition, Pool Cleaning (with or without speedo), Battery replacement (I know you didn't think your toys were the only things in the house burning thru those things -- how bout your smoke detecters)

I am the man you have always wanted. I can do just about anything you need. If you need a real man to handle your job I have the right equipment and won't stop till your satisfied 100%. Thats more then you can say for that slacker taking up space in your livingroom, right? I spend a lot of my free time in the gym and I'll work shirtless if you request it. I also have discretion, freindly positive atitude, Very open mind, a tool belt, can bench 275 pounds and know how women like to be treated (show up on time, put the toilet seat down, and much much more)

I do my best to squeeze in emergency calls. So feel free to call or email me  7am-9pm (sorry ladies, no midnight booty calls)

anonymous email address protected by the system 480-555-1234 

Location: Phoenix, Mesa, Scottsdale, Tempe it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 1111197831

From: Olivia Thomas  Subject: Thanks To:  Date: Sunday, January 03, 2010, 9:03 AM

Good morning,

Thanks for the laugh. Your ad was hysterical. Unfortunately I don't have a job for you, however in gratitude for the chuckle I wanted to send you a grammatically edited version of your ad for future posting. You have a great sense of humor but I couldn't take the typos and missed punctuation. I suppose you might find this presumptuous of me, but then, you don't have to respond. The edited version is yours free of charge in appreciation for your marketing efforts. Have a great day and I hope you have enough calls to keep you very, very busy.

- Olivia

I purposely avoided addressing the man as "Sheetrock". The play on words that I suspected he was getting at was just too awful to contemplate, especially considering the fact that I wasn't on Craiglist trolling for ass. 

I was however, in need of a contractor to repair the roof of my house thanks to a leak I noticed the week before Christmas during a light storm. I suppose I could have requested an estimate from Sheetrock, but I just couldn't overcome the cheese factor. I'd sooner grab a hammer and try to fix it myself and I'm terribly afraid of heights, not to mention the fact that I don't know the first thing about roofing.

I was surprised that I even bothered to respond. True, the spelling, grammar, and punctuation in his ad were atrocious, but who cared? His clientele probably didn't notice as they were undoubtedly more interested in his non-verbal abilities. At that thought, I conjured up an image of a hot construction worker with broad shoulders, strong arms and a washboard stomach clad in nothing but a tool belt. I guess I had been single just a little too long because I let my imagination play around with the idea for a few more minutes before returning to my search for a more professional alternative.

I'd already gotten a couple of contractors to come out and give me estimates on the roof and arranged to have one commence repairs over the weekend, when I received a response from the Sheetrock, offering to take me to dinner to show his appreciation.

Despite his lack of a greeting or close to his email, I had to admire the fact that he'd foregone the opportunity to be surly. Still, I could think of a hundred things I'd rather do with my time than sit through stilted conversation at dinner with a hot but barely literate handyman. I was in the process of typing a brief note declining the invitation when my phone rang. By the time I was finished receiving the third degree from my mother about the horrible blind date she had forced me to go out on, I decided that I should not resume the letter, lest I give in to the temptation to accept his offer, just to get her off my back about being over thirty, divorced and childless.

"You'd think one failed marriage would be enough to convince the woman that I'm just not that kind of girl," I grumbled as I poured myself a glass of wine. Conversations with my family always left me in need of a drink.

I had no desire to be in a relationship after my divorce. Truth be told, I hadn't even wanted to be in that one all that much but I let my mother talk me into it. I convinced myself that if I had to sign on for sex with just one man for the rest of my life; Bryan was about the best I could hope for. He was sort of sweet, like a Labrador puppy, but generally clueless. I was so taken with his looks at first, that I didn't notice or care about his lack of education. Since we both knew I was smarter, he let me make all of our decisions and my parents loved him because he was a good Catholic boy. I naively thought that I'd always enjoy the feeling of intellectual superiority that had so richly entertained me in our honeymoon phase.

We'd ended up constantly fighting whenever discussions took a turn towards theoretical landmarks like religion, politics, or child rearing. Unfortunately, minus a few great sessions of makeup sex, the fighting carried itself into our bedroom and we began to pick away at each other until just the thought of him inside me made me cringe. Three years in, we decided that the whole arrangement just wasn't working. He found himself tempted by the young receptionist in his office and was just too good of a guy to cheat on me. Coincidentally, Casey the receptionist gave birth to twins -- God love her. My mother has added this to the list of ways I've wronged her over the years.

I might never have thought of Sheetrock again if two things hadn't happened back to back. The first was that the contractor I'd hired, Ray, a man in his fifties with thirty years of roofing experience, managed to fall off and break his arm. It's not that I blame him for getting injured. Heaven's no, I feel terribly for him. It was just so darn unexpected. How does a man manage to repair roofs in Valley of the Sun for thirty years without incident, only to send himself to the emergency room on my watch?

The second event was an extremely concerning forecast on weather.com. Apparently the entire southwestern United States was on storm watch, with rain expected in Phoenix for the entirety of the 18th -- 22nd. Rain for multiple days straight in the middle of the desert, was nearly unheard of and yet the meteorologist made it incredibly clear that it was unavoidable. Rather than waste more time trying to find a new contractor, I simply responded to Sheetrock's email. I declined his invitation to dinner but mentioned my "newfound" problem with my roof and provided my number for him to call at his earliest convenience. I added that it would be great if he could come before the storm hit. I figured that he wouldn't be able to repair the roof before the storm but I hoped, for the sake of my living room, that he could at least do some damage control. I half expected him to ignore the email since nearly a week had gone by, but he actually called me back the same morning.

"I got your email. It sounds like someone had better get over there and see to your roof."

I tried not to cringe at the way his words seemed to call for bad 70s porn music. Bow chicka bow bow, "Miss Thomas? I understand you need a man around... to uh, see to your needs. It sounds like I'd better cum inside you, I mean, over - right away." On the other hand, his voice was pretty sexy. Maybe I just needed to get over myself... On the other, other hand, he could be a serial killer. I could just see the headlines now, "Local realtor found dead in her own dilapidated home after raunchy sex." 

As a real estate agent, I actually know and work with a handful of really skilled contractors but I prefer to keep my private life completely separate from my professional one. It might seem like a silly thing to worry about but mixing business and pleasure has never worked out well for me. I wanted a no-name, inexpensive but capable handyman to tackle the issue of my leaky roof.

"Yes, I'm home right now if it's possible for you to make it over," I said, looking at my watch, it was already 10:00, "but I need to leave for an appointment by 12:30. I'll be back around 3:00, if that works better."

"That's no good. I'm with a client right now and there's no telling when she'll be done with me," he replied. I was sure that I heard a woman giggling in the background at this announcement and while I'm certainly not a prude, the gigolo implication left a sour taste in my mouth. I just wanted someone to fix my damn roof!

I sighed into the phone. Apparently, the Sheetrock did not understand the urgency of my plight, "I don't know if you've seen the weather report for this week or not, but it's really quite imperative that I have someone over today. I suppose I'll just contact another contractor. Thanks, ummm," I waited for him to fill in his name, since I was distinctly unwilling to call him Sheetrock over the phone.

"Yeah, ok, you do that and get back to me if no one else can help you out. I might be able to move some stuff around, but only if it's serious."

I wanted to scream that it was already serious, as one man had broken an arm in his endeavor to keep my house safe and dry but I let it go. Why wasn't this man flirting with me shamelessly and telling me how he was the only one who could meet my needs? I stifled a rant about false advertising. He was obviously just a meathead, despite his flirty invitation to dinner. Thank goodness I hadn't agreed to go with him.

I made a few more phone calls and tried to wait patiently for them to be returned. Time was running out before my meeting and I thought I might have to cancel when I noticed Sheetrock's number on my caller id.

"Hello?"

"Uh, yeah. It's Rocco -- you know, the man you called about your roof. I'll send my buddy over to your house to do a quote, ok?" he grunted into the phone.

Part of me wanted to tell him no. He sounded so disgruntled to be allowing me to pay him for his services and I wasn't even enlisting him to hold my purse while I tried on new clothes. However, the convenience factor won out and I agreed to meet his friend, Cameron, at my house at 3:30.

Unburdened of the task of getting someone out to the house, I was suddenly struck with the inspiration to look up the website extension listed in his email address. After our riveting phone conversation, I needed proof that Rocco had a pretty face to make up for his conversational shortcomings.

I wasn't disappointed. The site featured one of the most beautiful men I'd ever seen, in various states of undress, fixing things. He had the build of a heavyweight UFC fighter, with large tattoos covering his back and shoulders. It was nearly a construction fetish site, except that it had actual information about repairs, quotes and the like. In addition to his build, he had big brown eyes and dark skin that hinted at a South American heritage. He was younger than I'd originally expected him to be, just barely out of his early twenties by my best estimate.

Now I could see how he stayed in business, despite his boorish manners. I clicked on a video and listened to Rocco recite a monologue that was nearly his Craigslist posting verbatim. He winked impertinently at the camera and made hand gestures with big strong hands that made me wonder what they'd feel like, pushing my thighs apart. His lips were a dark shade of red and the more I tried not to envision them sucking on my clit, the more vivid the mental picture became.

"Wow, Liv, you really need to get laid," I whispered, laughing at myself. Unfortunately between a busy work schedule and the bad fix ups I'd allowed friends and family to foist upon me, I was in a bit of a dry spell. I counted on my fingers the months it had been since I'd had sex.

"Holy shit, six months?" I thought to myself, "Maybe I should cancel my meeting with the Reynolds and call Rocco back."

Just because I'd been kidding about calling Rocco didn't mean I couldn't let his tattooed muscles fuel a quick fantasy. Glancing at my watch again, I realized that I would have to hurry. I only had about forty five minutes before I needed to leave the house. With one hand on my wireless mouse, I flipped through the pictures of his site. My other hand rubbed over my hardening nipples and pinched them through my tank top. With more time, I would have removed all my clothing and lingered more but I still needed to hop in the shower, do my hair and makeup and re-iron the blouse I intended to wear.

Switching from Rocco's page to a bookmarked lesbian milf site, I slipped my hand under the waistband of my jammies, into my black lace panties. I slowly rubbed my juices along my slit, up to my clit as I watched a hot Latina named Dulce peeling the clothes off an equally hot blonde named Kandice. I moved my fingers in time with Dulce's as they explored Kandice's pussy, until I had just enough inspiration to close my eyes and use both hands. I pictured Dulce, Kandice and Rocco attending to my body. Kandice's long blonde hair fell over my shoulder as she kissed my lips while Dulce sucked on my nipples. Rocco lost no time trailing his dark red lips down the folds of my pussy and then making swirling circles on my clit with his tongue. I moaned loudly as I came and then just as quickly as I'd worked myself up, I pulled myself together, reminding myself that I needed to get ready for my meeting. It was a tease of a masturbation session, but I could always pick up where I'd left off once I got back -- well, after Cameron, buddy of Rocco "Sheetrock" the handyman, came to see about my roof. 

During my meeting, I spent the better part of three hours explaining details of the home buying process to Mr. Reynolds and then watching him condescendingly re-explain to his wife as if she hadn't heard me. Watching her eyes, I knew that she understood my explanation but she played along, managing to look wide eyed and amazed at his brilliance. She even went so far as to thank him for his extraordinary patience with her lack of skill with numbers. By the end of the meeting I was irritated that they'd made me late and frustrated with men in general. Absently, I prayed (a habit leftover from twelve years of Catholic school) that whoever Rocco had sent over to my house wasn't a moron.

It was almost four o'clock when I arrived at my house and to my great relief there was a truck parked in my driveway. There wasn't, however, any sign of Cameron. I looked around a bit, for a note on my door or something in the truck but all I saw was a worn copy of Bukowski's Post Office and a black padfolio with a pen sticking out of it.

"Hello?" I called loudly, unsure of where he would have gone without his truck.

A few seconds later I saw a tall, lanky but well built man walking across my roof. He had loosely curled sandy blonde hair and wire framed glasses that made him look far too intelligent for blue collar work. He was boyishly handsome, though it looked like he hadn't shaved all weekend and the stubble, added to the lines I could see around his eyes and lips, hinted that he had a few years on Rocco. If he was any older than thirty though, he looked incredible for his age. He certainly didn't have Rocco's build, or his lips, but his t-shirt clung to the muscles of his chest and torso in a way that indicated that he would still look good shirtless. If I'd had to guess, I would have said that he was a runner rather than a fighter who could bench 275 pounds.

"Hi there. I'm sorry to start the party without you, but when you weren't here, I figured I'd just hop up to the roof and check things out. I don't know if you know or not, but there's going to be a huge storm all week. It's a hell of a time to have a leaky roof. I've spotted some shingles near the chimney that look questionable but I'll have to have a look around your attic to determine the extent of the damage."

Cameron made his way over to the side of the house where I could now see his ladder propped against the wall. I tried not to stare at his ass as he climbed down, though I definitely didn't put 100% effort into it.

"I'm sure you've guessed, but I'm Cameron," he said coming up to me, holding out his hand for me to shake. His hand felt strong wrapped around mine, but it didn't have the calluses of a fulltime repairman, "and you're obviously Olivia. I have to say, you're even prettier in person."

I raised an eyebrow and just stared at him. Had he been looking through my windows at the framed pictures of me with family and friends or something? The comment would have been borderline creepy if he hadn't been so damn cute.

"I meant prettier in person than you are on your website. I looked you up by your email address," he laughed, probably guessing the direction my thoughts had taken. I felt heat burning into my cheeks as I thought of how I'd used similar logic to look up Rocco that morning.

"Well, that's sweet of you to say," I said, forcing myself to stop staring at the dimples that formed in his cheeks when he smiled, "but I'm actually pretty concerned about that storm you mentioned. I read the forecast yesterday and as much as I love a good rainstorm, I don't think my roof can take it."

I led Cameron through the house and into the garage where there was an easily accessible entrance to the attic and then left him to his work. He was just a little too charming to stand around watching, given how worked up I'd been this morning. If I'd thought Rocco's conversational skills hinted at '70s porn, it'd be even more embarrassing to hit on Cameron like some sort of desperate divorcee in need of getting her pipes cleaned.

I headed for my bedroom to change out of the matching blazer and pencil skirt I'd worn to my meeting. Usually on Sundays I spent the entire day in a pair of cotton pajama pants and a loose fitting tank top with my hair in a ponytail, so I was eager to change out of professional attire. Once I had them on, though, I noticed that my nipples were hard, even through the lightly padded cups of my bra, so I threw on a sweatshirt to hide the evidence.


Cupid's Project



When I got back to the kitchen, Cameron was sitting at the dining room table waiting for me.

"Well, there's definitely a lot of damage up there that Roc's not going to be able to get to before the storm. I think if we put a tarp up there and try and put up a temporary sealant, we might avoid major damage. It just depends on how bad the storm is this week," he said, his eyes traveling over my body, noting my change of clothes. I was glad I'd put on the sweatshirt, though it did little to stop my own thoughts.

"Whatever you can do to minimize the damage would be great. By any chance, do you do repairs too? Rocco seems like he has a pretty full schedule and besides, I think I like you better," I smiled, trying to keep myself from flirting with him but having about as much success as I'd had with my attempts not to check out his ass. The mental image flashed through my mind again and I silently added soccer or some similar sport to the list of physical activities I assumed he did to maintain his body.

"Actually, I work downtown with an insurance agency. I do know a good deal about repairs thanks to summers spent working with my dad, but I'm nowhere near the professional that Rocco is. It'd probably take me twice the time."

"Why don't we just play it by ear? Go ahead and do whatever you can today and then after the storm has passed, we can re-evaluate. I would hate to take up your weekends when you have a regular full time job to do during the week," I lied. I would love to take up his weekends, though hopefully in a more naked capacity. Apparently my flash masturbation session had done nothing but make me more lascivious.

"Sounds like a plan. I'll just get that taken care of and then if you're free, I'd love to take you to dinner."

"What is it with you guys and asking me to dinner? Rocco already tried that line," I laughed, quite pleased at his invitation but not wanting to seem overly eager.

Cameron laughed, "Actually, that was my idea. Roc was a little peeved at your unsolicited advice. He's a good kid, but a little hot headed. He forwarded me the email you sent him and I pointed out that if you'd found his ad, you probably were looking for a contractor. By taking you to dinner and showing you that he's not that bad of a guy, he might have still managed to earn your business. Then I looked up your website and forwarded him the link, knowing that your blue eyes and great smile would help drive my point home. Roc's a sucker for leggy brunettes."

"And what are you a sucker for?" Now that he'd asked me out, I didn't feel like it was unacceptable to flirt with him.

"Leggy brunettes with blue eyes," he winked.

"I have a question and your answer will determine whether or not I accept your dinner invitation," I smiled back.

"I'm 36, single, no kids unless you count my oversized German Shepard puppy, Cash," he responded.

"Is the book in the truck yours?" I laughed. I'd been a fan of Bukowski since I'd found a copy of Notes of Dirty Old Man in the library of my jr. high school. Apparently the nuns hadn't thought such young girls would have any interest in cranky American literature, so they didn't censor the library's offerings. As early as twelve, I made it my mission to find any and every book with sex in it, and had been particularly pleased with Bukowski's alcoholic revelry and cynicism. When my parents found the book in my room, they deemed it unsuitable for a pre-teenaged girl, which of course made me love it all the more. 

"Post Office? Don't tell me you don't like Bukowski -- I'll have to rescind my invitation. It's one of my favorite books and I was re-reading it this morning when Roc called and said that 'the pain in the ass real estate lady' needed me to come over and look at her roof. I finished it in the truck while I was waiting for you to get here and then decided to check out your roof. In fact, you should buy Me dinner since you were late."

"I'm truly sorry about that. My meeting ran late. I'll totally buy you dinner," I said sheepishly. I made a habit of being punctual and I was quite embarrassed to find my self being called out by this incredibly good looking and ostensibly well read man who was also going to fix my roof.

"No, I'll buy dinner," he said with a tone of finality, "but you can wear a skirt if you want to make it up to me."

Normally, overly flirtatious men are a complete turn off for me, but there was just something about Cameron's manner that sold it well. I knew that he wouldn't mind the opportunity to check out my legs again, but he seemed like enough of a gentleman that he wouldn't even mention it when he saw that I changed into jeans instead. He had the ease of someone who was incredibly self-aware and thereby able to let others be themselves around him. I realized as I changed that I was looking forward to dinner with him more than I had any date I'd been on in the past year, and it wasn't even a real date.

On the short drive to the sports bar and grill around the corner from my house, I inquired into his friendship with Rocco. They seemed like unlikely friends. 

"Rocco was a trainer at my gym. He whipped my ass into shape for several months before I ran my first marathon. Not long after that, he came up with the idea for the handy man business, so I lost him as a trainer, but he still keeps in touch. I'm sort of an honorary big brother, I suppose. I help him out now and then when he can't get to all of the calls he receives, provide advice on women, you know, the usual."

"So was he really busy today or did you just want an excuse to meet me?" I asked, hoping for the latter, "He sounded a little rude on the phone."

"Are you kidding? Roc thinks you're a cougar, though I'm not sure you're really old enough for the title. He was probably in a bad mood because he really was busy today. He would have been here if he could."

Our dinner conversation flowed effortlessly as we talked of shared interests in Sundance films and classic rock over a couple of beers. We talked about my business which led to a discussion about college. We realized that we had both been at the University of Arizona at the same time but while I was studying business, he'd been studying religion.

"Religion? Wow... why?" I asked. All I'd gotten out of my religious upbringing was a desperation to escape to the dorms where sex, drugs and rock n' roll wouldn't be so frowned upon, "And how did that lead to a career selling insurance?"

"First of all, I don't sell insurance. I said I work with an insurance agency. I'm actually the director of human resources. My uncle, who owns the company, seemed to think I had a way with people and I was a 30 year old with a degree in World Religion sick of bouncing around to whichever corporate jobs would have me. He offered me the position provided that I work on a master's degree in business. So, I took a few courses at ASU," he paused as I glared at him for traitorously attending the rival university. He smiled knowingly and added, "Don't worry, they didn't convert me. I'm a Wildcat through and through. It was just practical to study in Phoenix since I'd been up here since graduation. I earned a MBA with a specialization in human resources and... yeah, I've been there about six years and I love it."

"As for the degree in religion, I didn't grow up religious at all, so it just sort of fascinated me to see how religion affected culture, morals and people's way of life. Honestly, the more I learned about religion, the more I came to believe that everyone essentially believes in the same thing, with different labels. In essence, religion is just a way of explaining the unexplainable and helping humanity unite in a common goal to connect the world with love."

"That's a beautiful thought, but I assure you that I did not encounter much love growing up in a strict Catholic household. My divorce was the scandal of my entire family," I muttered, and then was angry with myself for bringing up a past relationship in the middle of a quasi first date.

"For what it's worth, my divorce wasn't exactly celebrated in my non-religious family. It's a rough deal. Nobody's perfect, Olivia. We all do what we can to make the world make sense to us. For some that requires a lot of rules and structure, for others it's casting those away. If I judge what works for someone else, that makes me as intolerant as I'm judging them for being."

"That's pretty fucking deep. Where were you when I was in counseling?" I laughed, trying to regain some semblance of balance in the conversation. His ideas about life just kept fueling my attraction to him. I was much more comfortable with the idea of dragging him back to my place and occupying his mouth with other tasks.

In a calming gesture, Cameron moved his hand over mine and said in a low voice, "Your family helped make you who you are, and I'd say that's enough to thank them for. I think you're amazing."

I had to admire the way he was able to say something like that, to someone he hardly knew and not feel self conscious but at the same time I couldn't help but feel like we were getting ahead of ourselves. I was thirty three and divorced, not fifteen and hoping to meet my soul mate and live happily ever after. 

This talk of religion and family was miles away from the banter that I hoped would lead us back to my bed so I made an attempt to redirect, "And you haven't even seen me naked, yet."

He called me out on it right away, a pattern I was starting to notice and vaguely dislike, "Too deep, huh? It's ok, we can pick up the conversation another time." He then retreated to topics that were neither profound nor sexual, making me at turns grateful and confused. What type of man let such a blatant come on go by without comment? Was he gay?

When we returned to my house, he walked me to my door. I was actually afraid to proposition him again, so I took the coward's way out, "Well, Cameron, thank you for dinner and setting my roof up to hopefully weather the storm. You want to give me your card so I can get in touch with you once it blows over?"

"You know you're completely full of shit, right?" he laughed, "Don't pretend we didn't connect in the restaurant tonight. I'm not asking you to run off and join the circus with me, but I am going to insist that you not insult our intelligence by pretending there's nothing there."

I don't know if I was more shocked by being called on the carpet again or by his frank assessment that there was "something there". It had taken me months and many orgasms to feel like I had any real sort of connection to Bryan. Cameron was upfront and honest. It was refreshingly different but also incredibly disconcerting, especially for someone who didn't want to be in a relationship.

Wrapping his arms around my back, he pulled me closer to him and kissed me softly. My hands ran over his forearms, feeling the muscles tense and the pressure of his lips increase in response. It was honestly one of the best first kisses I'd ever had and it lasted only a few seconds. I thought about inviting him in. It was so much easier to picture him in my bed than to examine his assertion that we had "something". Before I even got the words out of my mouth he smiled and said goodnight, pulling a business card out of his wallet and placing it in my hand.

"Call me," he said as he walked to his truck.

Inside my house, away from Cameron's knowing gaze, I tried to shake the evening off. Six months without sex and a string of bad first dates had set me up to feel like this was more than it was -- a cute guy taking me out to dinner. Yes, we found each other attractive. Yes, we had some similar interests. There was definitely good chemistry, but why had he passed on the clear opportunity to have sex with me? We could have come back to my house and had sex on every surface possible -- something told me he had the stamina.

This thought reminded me of my abbreviated masturbation session earlier and I suddenly felt the need to make it up to myself. I decided to engage in my all time favorite routine, which I've always thought of as "romancing myself'. I lit some candles in my bathroom, grabbed a glass of Pinot Noir, drew a bubble bath and read, for probably the hundredth time, an English translation of Goethe's Venetian Epigrams - another find from my rebellious youth searching for taboo sections of the library. The fact that some of the epigrams were originally censored due to their sexual content, sent shivers down my spine, though they were hardly as explicit as modern erotica. I always enjoyed a feeling of connection to an ageless sensuality that made the orgasms I had watching modern porn pale in comparison because I had to truly engage my brain.

In the bath, I gently caressed my calves, my thighs, my hips, reveling in the feel of the soap suds against my smooth skin. I rubbed my thumb over my lips, moistening them with my tongue and biting them softly, playfully nibbling on my lower lip. I imagined that my hands were Cameron's, touching my neck, sweeping my hair off my shoulders. My fingers pulled gently on my hair and I leaned my head back against the tub, imagining his lips trailing across my body slowly, lingering at the cleavage between my breasts, and lightly pinching my nipples in a way that elicited a throaty moan. Just as I started to feel the familiar sensations of my arousal, I stopped, pulling myself out of the tub and walking into my bedroom.

Laying on my bed, I began the exploration of my body again, this time alternating between lingering caresses along my bare skin and urgent strokes, fueling my excitement. My fingers again found their way to my clit, swollen and throbbing insistently. Lightly, I traced circles over it, only to move back to my nipples with similarly teasing movements. My body was well acquainted with this game, aware that delaying my orgasm would produce a much stronger one. Unlike before, I had the time to exact the control and patience required. My entire body hummed along with the sensual melody created by the combination of the smell the perfumed bubbles had left on my skin, tracing fingertips and throaty moans, drawing me nearer to release.

Just as I felt myself tiptoeing on the border of that liberation, I paused again. Getting up off of my bed, I opened a drawer in my night stand containing a handful of colorful, battery operated devices. Selecting my favorite, a vibrating dildo with an additional clit stimulator, I returned to the bed. Deftly, I inserted first one finger and then another, assuring myself that I was wet enough to continue. The warm walls of my pussy clung to my fingers as I slid them in and out, creating a tempo I would emulate with the dildo after a few minutes. I could feel my heart racing, lending its accompaniment to the rhythmic consciousness washing over me.

I switched on the vibrator and closed my eyes, seeing first Cameron and then Rocco before me. Rather than choose between them, I envisioned them both joining me on the bed, Cameron positioned between my thighs about to burry himself inside me as Rocco pressed his rigid cock against my lips. Switching on the vibrator, I positioned it just outside my pussy and then slowly, inch by inch, slid it inside, moaning as it filled me in a way my fingers could not. The clit stimulator thrummed softly, and I sucked on the fingers of my other hand, as if they were Rocco. Steadily I increased the pace of my hand, bucking my hips against the vibrations, until I could no longer stand the waiting. With one hand pumping furiously and the other holding the clit stimulator in direct contact, I felt my body tense, my heels dig in to the sheets and my walls clamp around the dildo as a scream of pure satisfaction escaped my lips.

I could not remember the last time my orgasm had been that good. True, I had years of practice with the art of bringing my own body to climax, but I had to assume that part of it was the energy brought on by imagining both Cameron and Rocco. My attraction to Rocco was simple, so sexual and familiar. On the other hand, I felt drawn to Cameron on a level I suspected I hadn't ever really been on with a man before. I wanted him as clearly as I wanted Rocco, but there was something else that I couldn't quite put my finger on. My brain searched for a way to categorize it, but nothing came. The question echoed through my mind as I listened to the rain beginning to fall outside, lulling me to sleep in my bed, all alone.

The next few days I was so busy showing homes that I managed to avoid thinking about Cameron or Rocco. Well, most of the time anyway. I put off calling Cameron, like he'd instructed me, until Wednesday when I came home to a larger than usual puddle of water in my living room, in front of my fireplace.

"You know, it's the Guy who's supposed to wait three days after a date to call," Cameron answered when he saw my number flash across the screen of his cell phone.

"Too right, my apologies. However, at this exact moment, this is a business call. My living room is starting to stage for Noah's Ark," I exaggerated.

"Shit. I was afraid the storm might laugh at my meager preparations. I'll call Roc and see if he can swing by. He can probably put in some more sealant with his caulking gun, if it's not too wet."

I giggled. Sure, I knew he was talking about caulk and not cock, but adding the bit about it being too wet just sent me over the edge, "Oh yes, I'm sure Rocco knows his way around the caulk."

"Perv. If you don't knock it off, I'll tell him you said that and then you'll never be able to get rid of him. There's nothing that guy likes more than a good caulk joke -- and by good I mean terrible. So, beautiful, how've you been? You miss me yet?"

The second that he asked, I realized that I did. I decided that if he could just run around stating his feelings, I could too, "Yep. Want to come pretend to help me with my roof and then take me out again?"

"Sorry, Princess, I have dinner with my parents tonight -- every Wednesday, in fact -- family tradition."

"Mama's boy!" I teased, but I wondered what it would be like to like your parents well enough to willingly spend time with them as an adult.

"I'd invite you along, but since just telling you I think you're amazing caused a full scale emotional retreat, I'm guessing you'd pass out at the thought of meeting my parents," he teased back. I wished his teasing had been a little less dead on, but he didn't seem to be too bothered, so perhaps my momentary neurotic attack hadn't unnerved him too much. I was, all at once, incredibly preoccupied with the thought that I would do whatever it took to lure this man into my bed.

We chatted for a bit and I felt thirteen again, insanely pleased to be talking on the phone to a boy I had a crush on, while simultaneously my thirty three year old self was impressed with how much we found to talk about.

"I tell you what, after dinner with my parents, I'll stop by and see you, but this time, no sweatshirt," Cameron added just before he hung up. Given his prior sexually elusive behavior I wondered if that comment was made from a desire to see me in less clothing or as a test of my indomitable will.

I was curled up on my couch reading Choke by Chuck Palahniuk when Cameron knocked on the door. I put the book face down on my coffee table to hold my place and tried not to run to answer the door. I was absurdly excited to see him and rather than putting a sweatshirt on, just to be obstinate, I was wearing jeans and a tank top without a bra. I might not have been sure about his goals but I was abundantly clear on mine.

If I'd thought Cameron had looked good in relaxed jeans and a t-shirt, swaggering around on top of my roof, it was nothing compared to him in dress slacks, a light green button down shirt and a blazer. This time, his glasses suited the look perfectly and beneath his clean shave, I could easily see him as the head of a human resources department, though his very presence would undoubtedly spur many HR inappropriate comments.




Cupid's Project



"Wow," I smiled, "that's a good look for you."

His eyes slid over me at the same time, taking in the absence of the bulky sweatshirt and my unrestrained breasts in my tank top, which had crept up just a little to show the curve of my waist above my low rise jeans. "You too, babe. You too," he commented before leaning forward and kissing me again, sending tingles up my spine as his fingers threaded through my long, dark hair.

"Well, you want to come in?" I asked breathlessly as he lifted his lips from mine.

"Nope. I just said I'd come see you. I've done that, time to be off," he said, with a look of mock seriousness so perfectly executed that I feared he might really mean it.

"Your parents waiting in the car?" I joked, trying to peer around him out to the driveway.

"Hardly. All right, already, I'll come in your stinking house -- but no funny business, you hear?" This time his look communicated that he meant anything but what he was saying.

He followed me into the living room, made a comment about the greatness of Chuck Palahniuk and then he was kissing me again. His breath on my neck, his fingers in my hair, my hands pulling him closer -- we made out like teenagers for nearly an hour. I couldn't remember the last time I'd kissed someone like that and not fucked them. Every time I tried to remove clothing- his or mine- he stopped me with an even deeper kiss. If I hadn't been so turned on and lost in the feel of his chest supporting me as I sat on his lap, I'd have been unbelievably confused. I wanted to ask him what the deal was, but I didn't want to stop kissing him long enough to get the words out. It was one of the hottest hours of my life -- and then he went home.

I wasn't even sure what to make of the evening, but my dreams that night were full of him, his smell, his taste, the way his muscles contracted reflexively when I touched him. I dreamt of us fucking on my couch, where we'd made out and then in my bed, out in my pool, even on my kitchen floor. When I woke up, I was so wet, it seemed a shame he wasn't there to reap the benefits. Though I fucked myself to an orgasm with another one of my favorite dildos, I still couldn't get him out of my head.

Friday I called to see if he wanted to have lunch with me. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had to pursue a guy, let alone one I'd already propositioned and yet I was enjoying the chase -- as long as it didn't last too long. With any luck, I'd convince him to spend the weekend trapped inside my room, possibly with the help of a pair of handcuffs. 

My morning was incredibly busy and had it not been for the alarm I'd set on my Blackberry, I might have missed lunch altogether. Silencing the alarm, I tried to find a way to interrupt one of my favorite clients.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Beyer. I really do have to go," I said apologetically to the older woman who'd been telling me stories about her son's appendectomy, "I have a lunch meeting and if I don't leave now, I'll be inexcusably late."

"It's quite all right dear, I appreciate you listening to my stories. If only my David wasn't already married, I'd introduce you two. You're much too pretty to be single and you'd give me very pretty grandbabies."

Trying not to cringe, I signaled for my assistant, Jessica, to come and distract Mrs. Beyer. Despite the pouring rain and Mrs. Beyer's attempts to continue engaging me in conversation, I arrived at the sushi restaurant on time. Checking my makeup in the vanity mirror, I reapplied my lipstick and then carefully opened my car door and umbrella to keep from getting soaked on my way in.

Cameron was already there and he looked incredible, this time in a well-tailored suit. Between bites of spicy tuna and yellow tail, we discussed favorite concerts and who we would resurrect from the dead to see play live. 

"Kurt Cobain? Seriously?! Over Johnny Cash or Freddy Mercury from Queen? God, what about John Lenon?" he asked incredulously.

"Nirvana was my favorite band ever and of course, my parents wouldn't let me go to their show, even though all my friends were going. I'm honestly not sure how I've survived. That's my story and I'm sticking to it!" I said obstinately.

While I'd had friends, even male friends, who I could talk to this way, I'd never found that combined with someone I was so sexually attracted to. I found myself torn between the desire to rip off his clothes and wanting to know everything about him. The cynical part of my brain warned me that my fondness for him was chipping away at my emotional reserve, but he was just so fun to be with, it was hard to care.

I'd gotten so used to silent meals with Bryan near the end of our marriage, that I'd forgotten how great it could be to just sit and talk with a man. Though we didn't share the same point of view on everything, the air of competition was missing. His teasing was good natured and I loved the crooked smile he gave me when he found something I'd said ridiculous. 

The conversation turned serious for a bit when he mentioned seeing U2 in concert with his ex-wife.

"Brooke and I got married when we were 23. Looking back now, I know that we were way too young, but at that age, no one can tell you anything, right?"

"How long were you married?" I asked, suddenly curious to know all the details, though I wouldn't relish sharing mine.

"Almost seven years. To be honest, I'm surprised we held it together that long. She wanted a family and I... well, I didn't know what I wanted. She got re-married a couple of years ago and our mutual friends say that she's happy."

"So you've been divorced about six years then? Bryan and I got divorced two years ago and were only married for three. I'd say that the whole experience destroyed my faith in love, but the truth is, I never put much stock in it in the first place. Do you ever want to get married again?" I asked idly, swirling more wasabi into my soy sauce.

"Yeah, probably. I mean, I'm only 36. Besides, I think I'm older and wiser now. I have a much better idea of what it takes to make it work," Cameron smiled, "or at least I hope I do. You?"

"The jury's still out, but I do know I wouldn't do it any time soon. Hell, I don't even want to be in a serious relationship. I really like my freedom," I answered honestly. 

"Well there's a telling statement," Cameron laughed, "but enough of this serious stuff... What's your favorite guilty pleasure tv show? Please don't say Jersey Shore, I like you too much to have to walk out on you."

I appreciated the change of topic. "Actually, I'm totally addicted to those I Love the 90s shows on VH1," I admitted.

"Don't feel guilty about that, those are priceless. I love the 90s!" Cameron sang in an imitation of the theme song, "The 90s covered the end of high school and college for me. Watching those shows are almost like a class reunion -- without that kid who used to flick his boogers at the wall."

When our lunch started to round out its second hour, I announced that I needed to get back to work. "This was fun. We should hang out this weekend," I offered, enjoying the image my imagination conjured up.

"Sorry, Princess, I've got a soccer tournament this weekend. Coach says no girls -- too distracting," Cameron smiled, "but I'll text you if I'm ever on the bench."

"Lucky me," I retorted, "Wait, what about my roof? The rain's supposed to stop by tomorrow."

"I'll leave that to Roc. You'll just have to think of a better excuse to spend time with me."

"I can think of plenty, but no girls, right?"

"Not this weekend."

I groaned and he laughed before he kissed me goodbye. I was starting to wonder if the man was just a gigantic pussy tease or if he had no idea that when he kissed me, I envisioned several pages of the Kama Sutra that I'd like to try out with him. Was it possible that he believed that women didn't think about sex as much as men? I vaguely remembered a nun trying to tell me that in high school and I'd laughed for weeks about it.

When I got back to work, I had a message waiting on the office voicemail, "Olivia, this is Rocco. The rain is supposed to let up this weekend, so I was thinking that I could start repairs on your roof on Monday. Give me a call and let me know what you want to do."

I wasn't sure if Cameron had called him after lunch or if he'd taken it upon himself, but I was happy that he didn't sound like such a jerk this time. Maybe he was cheered by the prospect of actually getting to meet me. 

I called and arranged for Rocco to come over on Sunday, so that I could provide him with keys to the house and he could do the repairs while I was at work. Even though Saturday is a normal day off for office types, it was usually a busy day for me and that one was no exception. By Sunday, I was ready to just relax and put zero effort into anything.

The infamous Rocco showed up at my house around four, dressed like he was headed to the gym. I tried not to stare at his bulging biceps but I couldn't help envisioning him bench pressing the 275 pounds he mentioned. That was barely more than twice what I weighed so I was pretty sure he could manage some pretty interesting positions with me.

"So how old are you anyway?" I asked, as I wrote him a check so that he could pick up supplies from Home Depot.

"23, but I've been doing this type of work for years. My dad was a carpenter back in Brazil and he got by doing odd jobs when he first moved us here. When I was a kid, he taught me just about everything he knew and I picked up the rest along the way from friends of his," he said, his hands in his pockets, leaning against my kitchen counter. I figured it was a well rehearsed speech as it was the most words I'd heard him put together at one time, not counting the video on his website.

"Holy God, the kid is 10 years younger than me," I thought. "There is no way I should be standing here thinking about how much I want to lick all of his tattoos."

"Ok, here's the check and the keys. What time do you think you'll be here tomorrow?" I asked trying, and failing, to keep my voice level. Rocco just looked at me cockily as my voice cracked. He was probably used to women throwing themselves at him all the time -- occupational hazard, I supposed.

"I'll probably be here around 10 tomorrow. If you stay home from work, I'll see you," he winked.

My ego was definitely inflated thanks to Cameron's attentions and Rocco's flirty banter, but I still wasn't any closer to ending my dry spell. If I didn't get laid soon, I was afraid I'd go crazy. I didn't call Cameron because I knew he was busy, but his unavailability just left room in my imagination for Rocco, the baby Brazilian. Good lord that kid was hot.

Monday when I returned from work Rocco informed me that the storm had done quite a bit more damage to the roof. He tried to tell me all about the repairs that would be needed but I kept getting lost, watching his sexy lips form words that didn't register in my brain. He estimated that with his other appointments, it would take him until the end of the week to make all of the repairs and I just smiled and nodded. I caught myself rushing home from work each night, hoping to catch him in the act of fixing things, preferably without a shirt on.

We didn't manage to have much to say to each other. He reminded me a lot of Bryan, gorgeous but without two thoughts to rub together, unless it involved repairs, sports or hot girls. I suppose it might have been his age, but he seemed to delight in telling me about the women who called him constantly. It was such a bad flirting technique that I didn't even realize that it was one until the third day he was over.

"Booty call?" I asked, leaning on my kitchen counter watching him read a text message on his phone as we drank a beer together. He'd been working steadfastly on the repairs to my roof and I thought the least I could do was offer him a drink in addition to the money I was paying him. It also allowed me further opportunity to take in the sheer beauty of him. For such a strong man, he moved with incredible grace and I couldn't help wondering how that would translate in my bed.

For my part, I was prancing around my house in a tight tank top and shorts that highlighted the ass I'd spent countless hours toning in the gym. I didn't plan to sleep with him. He was just a baby, but it felt really nice to watch Rocco's eyes rove over my body, appreciatively. I was used to guys like Rocco, perhaps a little older, but his type. I knew exactly what to expect, how I could make them react and how to get them into bed, not that it took much. I was pretty sure that all I'd have to do was point to my bedroom and Rocco would join me in there, unlike Cameron who seemed caught in some sort of old fashioned courtship ritual.

"Nah, it was just my friend Ted. He wants me to go out with him tonight. I told him I wasn't sure if you and I were going to hang out or not," he said hopefully.

"No, I think I'm heading to the gym in a bit. You should totally go out with your boys. You don't have to sit around and entertain an old lady like me," I smiled, providing him the perfect opportunity to flirt with me some more.

I wasn't surprised when he missed it, "You're not That old, Olivia."

I waited for him to add something suggestive, like "I'd still hit that or I was hoping you'd entertain Me," but no such comment was forthcoming. We finished our beers and I sent him on his way with just a little disappointment that he hadn't tried any harder to win me over. It was probably just as well though, since I had plans to get a drink with Cameron and some of his friends at happy hour on Friday.

By the time Friday rolled around, I wasn't feeling it though. I was tired and I had a long day of appointments on Saturday so I called him around lunch time to cancel. He was bummed but understanding. I let him know that he was more than welcome to stop by my house afterwards and he showed up around eight while I was on the phone with my mother.

I motioned for him to come in and that I'd be with him in a minute. He took a seat in my living room and I offered him a beer from the kitchen as I listened to my mother harp on.

"Mom, really, I need to get going. I hope you and dad have fun at the car show tomorrow. Love you, bye," I said hurrying her off the phone. Cameron was in my house, I was not going to waste more time listening to her when I could be seducing him.

"That looked painful," he observed, as I handed him a beer and then sat down next to him on my couch.

"Despite my mother's incessant attempts to fix me up with another good Catholic boy, I have no desire to go there ever again," I explained.

"Ah... that explains it," Cameron answered. When I looked at him questioningly he continued, "Your willingness to sleep with me but complete lack of regard for how well we get along and what we have in common. You don't want to date me -- you're just using me for my body," he joked, though the truth of it still hung in the air.

"I've never had any complaints before," I quipped, uncomfortable with the way that Cameron always seemed to be attempting to increase the intimacy of our acquaintance, while I preferred to keep as much emotional distance as possible.

"My guess," he said, his eyes meeting mine in a thoroughly disarming gaze, "is that you've met plenty of men that could have meant something to you -- but you've marginalized every single one of them -- only let them have access to your body. Don't get me wrong, that's tempting, but it's not enough when I know that we could have more. I'm not trying to pitch any love at first sight BS at you, but I am saying that I'm going to pass on one great weekend in bed that ends with you losing my number. If that's what you're looking for, call Rocco. He's young enough not to know any better."

My eyes flashed angrily, "You won't have sex with me unless I want a relationship? You have got to be kidding! It's not the 50s and for fuck's sake, you're a man -- act like one." 

"I am," he stated simply, "but you're not looking for a man. You want a boy you can boss around. Give me a call if you change your mind, I'd love to take you out on a real date," Cameron said, standing up to leave, though he'd just gotten there.

It shouldn't have mattered to me, but my stomach sunk at the thought that we were parting ways. We'd been flirting all week and when I wasn't lusting after Rocco, he was on my mind constantly. A small voice inside urged me to reconsider, but my pride was wounded, especially by his assertion that I was being immature. Hell would freeze over before I called that man again. Fuming, I followed him to my front door to lock it behind him. I was completely caught off guard when he stopped, reached out and pulled me to him. His kiss was searching, trying to convince me to take a chance but I was too infuriated to be tempted. Reaching down, I rubbed his cock through his jeans, making it clear that I was maintaining my ground. I'd gladly take him to bed, but he could take his "connection" BS and go. It took a second longer than I thought it would for him to remove my hand, but he did and walked out the door with a sad look over his shoulder from the driveway.

All day Saturday I was in the worst mood. I was horny, confused and pissed off but I couldn't very well let my clients see that. Faking a good mood all day left me exhausted and I was asleep by 8:00 only to dream of Cameron all night. I was even more irritated that he'd managed to get under my skin in any way when all I was trying to do was get his incredible body naked and inside me.

On Sunday, Rocco came over to return my keys and collect final payment. No sooner was he through my front door than I was on him, like the cougar he'd once referred to me as. I was tired of being shut down and I felt like it was past time to see what this beautiful boy could do to my body.

I didn't even bother with words because it was clear that none were necessary. Rocco bent over and scooped me into his arms. He was taking long strides towards my bedroom, kissing my neck and grabbing my breasts in a way that I could only describe as crazy with lust. I can't lie, I felt incredibly pleased with myself for being able to inspire such a reaction in a man so fucking hot.

His kisses weren't tender or passionate, they were greedy and probing, yet deliciously so. He tossed me on the bed and we both removed our clothes so fast, it probably looked like a contest, and then he was on me. His hot skin pressed into mine and I moaned at the weight of him before he used his heavily muscled forearms to bear his weight. His tongue thrust into my mouth and as it explored, I reached down to feel his chest, his stomach and finally his rock hard cock.

My fingers wrapped around him, distracting him from his eager kisses and I motioned for him to roll over so that I could pay more attention to him. Laying on his back, he watched as my lips wrapped around his cock, which was just a little smaller than I'd expected, but I still had to use my fingers to stroke the length that wouldn't fit in my mouth easily.

"Jesus, baby, that feels good. Suck my cock. Yeah, suck my fucking cock," he grunted, spurring me on, as I alternated between licking the length of him and sucking. His fingers groped for my breasts, grabbing them roughly and pinching my nipples as I leaned over him.

I guessed that despite all of the innuendos in his ad, this situation didn't happen very often because he came pretty quickly in my mouth. I swallowed his cum and then blatantly told him it was time to return the favor. Just like in my fantasy, Rocco lost no time trailing his fingers down to my pussy. Kneeling between my legs, he motioned for me to prop them over his shoulders as he began to insert, first one finger and then two inside me. His fingers thrust in and out as he licked and sucked on my clit, my moans filling the room as I climaxed, the first of many that afternoon.




Cupid's Project



Rocco got back up and kissed me, the taste of my juices on his lips and tongue. I held his body tightly to mine as I sucked on his tongue, reaching down again for his cock.

"God you're hot," I whispered as I stroked him again, "I've wanted to do this all week."

"Me too. I wasn't sure it was going to happen, but it's been on my mind. That day you were wearing those shorts, I thought I was going to explode. I wanted to fuck your brains out, right there on that counter."

"Do it," I laughed and he scooped me up again, carrying me into the kitchen and setting me down on the counter top. I spread my legs and he just stood there looking at me for a moment.

"Jesus, that's hot. Your tits are fucking perfect and your pussy's glistening, waiting for me," he said admiringly.

The man rarely spoke and he chose that moment to attempt to be poetic? 

"Just shut up and fuck me!" I laughed, looking down at my medium sized breasts, the dark areolas just larger than a silver dollar with erect nipples advertising my complete arousal. I supposed that they were pretty great but I was much more concerned with feeling Rocco's hard cock inside me.

Stepping in between my outstretched legs, he lifted my hips off the counter. With my weight supported by my arms on the counter and his hands, he propelled inside me and I moaned loudly. His movements were hurried, but I still felt incredibly pleased at being able to turn him on so much. I began thrusting my hips in time with his, leveraging against his forearms, thankful for his strength and balance.

Placing my ass just on the edge of the counter, he continued to pump in and out of me but freed one hand to play roughly with my breasts. With the support of the counter, I too freed a hand, but moved it to my clit in an effort to speed up my oncoming orgasm so we'd be closer to coming together.

"Oh God, Olivia, you're so tight. God, I could fuck you all day," he whispered hoarsely in between grunts of pleasure.

I came again, this time my moans stifled by his kiss, though I wouldn't have cared if my neighbors could hear me. Seconds later Rocco pulled himself out of me and looked at me questioningly, silently asking me where I wanted his cum. I motioned to my breasts and held them together for him, watching as thick strings of cum dashed across my chest and stomach.

After that, I expected the pace to slow but Rocco seemed to only have mastered hard and fast. We had sex in my shower and again on my bed but despite my attempts to change the tempo, we came quickly and less intensely than I would have liked. He didn't curl up beside me after the last orgasm, which I hadn't expected but found myself wanting. I'd never thought of myself as much of a cuddler, but his quick replacement of his clothes and exit from my house seemed too fast -- apparently a theme of our afternoon together.

I sighed. At least I had finally gotten what I'd been attempting to accomplish for weeks. I'd gotten laid and by a hot 23 year old with big muscles and beautifully bronzed skin who had fixed my roof, nonetheless. I laid there feeling pleased with myself until an image of Cameron's lazy smile and his penetrating gaze floated through my mind. Of all the times I had pushed him from my mind that weekend, I was most irritated by this one. Couldn't he just let me lay in my bed, in post-orgasmic bliss, for a few minutes?

The following week, I tried to busy myself with work and making plans to attend my friend Kristy's Super Bowl party on the 7th. I didn't call Rocco. The job was finished and while the sex had been much needed and appreciated, it wasn't quite good enough to make me want to go back for more. I couldn't help wondering if it would have been better with Cameron, but I pushed the thought aside. Even if it would have been better, it came at a higher emotional price than I wanted to pay. Rocco didn't come with any strings and that was the way I preferred it.

Sunday afternoon, I was surrounded by friends enjoying the football game, trying not to think about Cameron. I don't even remember any of the new commercials that debuted or who sang the national anthem. All week long, little things he had said to me would float back up to the surface, no matter how hard I tried to drown them out. At half time I sat, half listening to my friend Gina as she talked about her boyfriend and their trouble communicating.

"Is it really that much to ask?" she asked me and I realized that I hadn't heard the initial question. Whatever was supposed to be "not too much" had been pushed aside by the memory of making out with Cameron like a schoolgirl on my couch.

"I'm sorry, Gina. I guess I wasn't really listening. Is what too much to ask?"

"Well," Gina laughed, "I was ranting about Kenny not listening to a word I say. Apparently it's contagious -- but enough about me. You've been staring off dreamily into space all day. You've got it bad for someone... who is he? Spill it! I want all the details."

I started to balk at the idea that "I had it bad" for Cameron when I realized it was plain and simply true. I'd been fighting it for over a week, but really, all I wanted to do was call him up and say that I was sorry and willing to give it a shot if he'd still have me. Of course, now the whole situation would be more complicated, since I'd fucked his honorary little brother. Editing out the juicier details, I explained to Gina how I'd met Cameron and some of the highlights of our conversations and her eyes lit up.

"Wait, there's someone on the planet who loves cynical unromantic literature as much as you do? Why on earth are you here instead of with him?" Gina teased. We'd been friends for a long time and she remembered vividly just how little Bryan and I had in common and the problems that had eventually caused.

"To be honest, I have no idea. I think I'm going to go call him. If you'll please excuse me," I said with exaggerated politeness. I felt lighter, just giving in to the idea of at least seeing if a relationship with Cameron was possible.

My stomached fluttered nervously as I clicked on his name in my phone and waited for him to pick up.

"You're awfully brave calling a man during the biggest football game of the year," Cameron's voice said jokingly into the phone, "but my team is ahead, so I'm feeling charitable. What's up, Olivia?"

I fought the urge to chicken out and hang up. I was a big girl. I could handle this... probably. "I just wanted to see if you'd come by my house after the game," I stammered as I realized that he might take that as another proposition, "or if we could meet up somewhere."

"Uh sure. I'll give you a call after the game -- oh and Olivia, it's about damn time you called."

I'm not sure how I made it through the rest of the game, especially since I had never been the world's biggest football fan. I couldn't even tell you who won because I was quickly becoming incredibly preoccupied with how Cameron would react to the news that I had slept with Rocco. If I was going to open up to the idea of a relationship, I was going to do it right and that required honesty -- the painful "maybe I'll get crushed but I have to keep my hopes up" kind of honesty.

"So where should we meet up?" I asked when he called me back, "There's a park down the street from my house."

"I'll come over to your house. I've been dying to kiss you and there might be kids at the park. I'd hate to scar them with premature exposure to PDA," Cameron laughed.

"Cool. I'll meet you there. I'm about 20 minutes away right now."

In the car, I switched on the radio to distract myself. It was Sunday evening and my favorite station was playing old school love songs. Usually, their definition of older included stuff from when I was in high school, which always made me feel old, but something caused me to stop and listen as the chorus of a familiar song by 112 began to speak directly to me.

"Cupid, doesn't lie, but you won't know unless you give it a try. True love won't lie, but you won't know unless you give it a try."

"Ok, ok," I muttered good naturedly into the air, "Thanks, Cupid. I'm trying now -- are you happy? Ease up on the arrows, I'm starting to bruise."

Cameron's truck was in my driveway as I got home. It was poignantly familiar and I wondered if I looked in the window if I'd see the book and padfolio again, but I doubted it. He stepped out of the shadows my front entryway and I noticed that once again he hadn't shaved. There were just so many looks the man could pull off and I wasn't even close to having a favorite. Everything about him gave me that ridiculous feeling of being a thirteen year old with a crush. For all that I'd discounted that feeling over the years, maybe I'd been on to something.

"I won," he said as I walked up the driveway and I wasn't sure if he meant that he'd won because he beat me to the house or because I'd called. Either way, he looked rather pleased with himself and I wanted to kiss the teasing smirk off his lips.

"So, you wanted to see me?" he asked, "I hope you're not going to try to seduce me again. I'm pretty sure I'd cave. I missed you."

"It's only been about a week," I stated, but I knew what he meant. It felt like a long time to me too.

"9 days, babe. 9 fucking days," was his response, just before he kissed me again. I started to wonder if I'd ever get tired of the feel of his lips on mine. His kiss was so completely unhurried and so completely unlike Rocco's. At that thought, I broke away and led him into the house. There was no sense getting ahead of myself. I still had a very important confession to make.

I intended to find a diplomatic way to tell him but I'd yet to find one and before I knew it, the cold facts just slipped from my mouth, "I slept with Rocco."

I held my breath, waiting to see how this announcement would affect the mood in the room.

"I know. He told me. So?"

"So? You don't care? I was worried --"

He cut me off, "Ok, don't go there. I care. If I say I don't, you'll eventually take it to mean that I don't care about you and I don't want there to be any confusion. I care, but I'm not letting you off the hook that easily. I know we have something worth trying out and I'm not going to let your fucked up commitment issues kill that for either of us."

It was the second time in the space of five minutes that he'd sworn and as far as I could remember, the second time he'd ever sworn in my presence. He was shaken up. It would have been adorable if my heart hadn't been racing so fast and my feelings in a confused jumble, rolling around my head.

"We weren't even dating. When you're my girlfriend, I'd appreciate you only having sex with me, but I can't really ask that of you beforehand."

I smiled at his use of the word "when". Jumbled feelings or not, the man was just so fucking adorable. "You said you wanted to take me out on a real date... Ok. When?"

A quasi sadistic smile lit up his face, "Something tells me that a girl like you probably hates Valentine's Day, right?"

"With a passion. It's without a doubt the most ridiculous, over commercialized day of BS to ever grace the calendar," I answered.

"So let's go out on Valentine's Day. It's not the first thing you've been dead wrong about," he stated, so matter-of-factly that I playfully punched him in the arm.

"No."

"No?" he asked, cocking his head to one side and raising one eyebrow.

"I have a girl's night planned that night, but you can have Saturday," I smiled.

"Done," he smiled, walking away, "and just so you know, when I say real date, I mean it. No pjs or jeans. Find a skirt to show of those legs and be prepared to find me the most charming of men."

"Where are you going?" I asked, incredulously. Even on the day we'd fought, he'd left me with a kiss.

"I'm building anticipation, Princess. I'll see you Saturday."

"Jerk!" I yelled, tossing a throw pillow at his back, but missing completely.

The week dragged by until early Saturday evening when I started to get ready. I curled my hair and wore a strapless pink dress, in honor of the occasion. I could have cared less about the romantic date, I just wanted to see him. We'd talked once during the week, but it had been brief, in between meetings and I missed him more than I would have thought possible. I was clearly infatuated.

He showed up to my house with a single red rose and I tried not to let my cynicism for the holiday kill the gesture. I thanked him with a kiss and then he led me out to his truck before I could manage to effectively distract him from his plans for a night out.

We went to dinner at a beautiful wine bar with a balcony overlooking a constructed waterfront in Scottsdale, but I don't remember what I ate or drank. I was completely taken with the full force of Cameron going out of his way to charm me. He pulled out my chair, stood up when I left the table to use the restroom and again when I returned. It was terribly chivalrous and even though I typically didn't go in for all that, it worked its magic anyway. After dinner, we slow danced on the terrace to the music provided by a street jazz band and I kissed him in the moonlight. I tried to tell myself that I would be ok if the night ended with nothing more than kissing but I knew that I was kidding myself. I'd never wanted to have sex with someone more in my whole life.

Deciding to press my luck, since I'd given in and agreed to a real date, I leaned up on my tip toes and whispered into his ear a line from one of my all-time favorite movies, "Take me to bed or lose me forever."

With a quickness that surprised even him, I think, he grabbed my hand and led me out of the restaurant. He was speeding and when he passed the exit for my house, I started to say something until I realized that he was taking me home with him. I'd never been to his house before, but the novelty of that was completely drowned out by the anticipation of finally being with him.

I don't remember the walk to his room but once inside, I stood there just looking at him for a moment -- deciding. Not deciding if I would have sex with him -- that was a given -- finally! The question was how -- fast, slow, hot, safe, missionary or me on top? Would he figure out that sliding a hand possessively over my hip tickles like hell but turns me on more than three glasses of wine? Was he one of those guys that got off on leaving lights and clothes on or would he only be happy once his skin was in complete contact with mine? I could see myself with him; licking the tip of his cock, his face buried between my thighs, my hands pinned above my head as he pushed into me, so big it hurt but stretching me in a delicious way that eventually accommodated him. I was beginning to feel dizzy, from the thoughts swirling through my head or maybe that last glass of wine but whatever the case, the time for thinking had past.

I pushed him back against the wall. I'm sure he thought I was going to kiss him, but instead my teeth clamped down on his shoulder and playfully bit into the muscle. I wanted him much too badly to play romantic and soft. His hands grasped my waist roughly pulling my whole body into contact with his. A thrill ran through me so sharp, I inhaled a quick breath, taking in the smell of his cologne. His hands were in my hair, pulling my head back, exposing my neck, which he licked and sucked in a way that sent a quiver through my thighs and made me wish he was much lower. I let out a low groan that could have been confused with a growl, pulling his head up so I could attack his lips.

His hands dropped lower, rubbing my cleavage seductively and then pushing his hand inside the cup of my strapless bra to graze my nipple. I grabbed handfuls of his sweater and twisted, hearing the seam rip. Breaking our kiss, I slid it over his head and threw it across the room. His body was calling me, I wanted to lick it, grab it, bite it - but my hands trailed down to his jeans. He was hard and straining against the stiff fabric. One hand rubbed him through his jeans and he groaned as my other was unbuttoning quickly.

I vaguely noticed as my own sweater came off, but my eyes were focused on his beautiful cock, begging me to touch it.

"Please," he whispered as my hands mischievously trailed over him.

"Please what? Fingers or tongue?" I teased.

"Both!" he said, grabbing me by the hair and positioning my lips at the head of his cock.

My tongue darted out of my lips and licked the forming drops as my hands glided up and down the length of him. Cupping his balls, I licked and sucked, loving the way his smooth, salty skin slid across my tongue. I delighted in the look on his face, a mixture of pleasure and impatience as I worked up and down.

He reached down and pushed down the top of my dress and then grabbed my breasts roughly, pinching my nipples. I sighed around his cock, and suddenly felt myself being pulled up from my knees. His strong arms drug me slowly along his body, the lace of my bra rubbing over his stomach, the hair on his chest tickling my skin.

Without any words he began walking me back towards his bed. I kissed him again and felt myself falling backwards, bringing him with me. I felt his hands underneath my dress, rubbing the wetness on my panties just seconds before I felt them sliding down my legs, his hands trailing over my thigh and the curve of my calf.

It was my turn to whisper please as he pushed my dress up around my waist. I wanted him inside me. His hands slid over my hips, pulling them up as he entered me roughly at first, but slower as he watched my eyes widen. I moaned in pleasure as I felt every inch of him slide inside me, my walls clasping him tightly. When he began to pull back, I moaned, raising my hips, trying to keep him. He buried himself even deeper, his cock stroking inside me as I grabbed his ass. The more I got used to the size of him, the faster his rhythm became. He pulled my hair again, causing me to cry out and cling tighter to him, his name coming from my lips in breathy syllables. 

It was good, very very good, but I wasn't ready to cum. I wanted, no needed, for this to last longer, to build a little more after all the non-sexual build up we'd had. I kissed him softly, cuing him in to my desire to change things up a bit. He returned my kiss, slowing his strokes as his tongue caressed and explored my mouth. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around my back and then rolled the two of us sideways, still inside me, bringing me on top. 

Strong fingers undid the clasp of my bra and as I sat up, my legs straddled his hips and my breasts bounced slowly. He reached up to play with them as I slowly rode his cock, rotating my hips in slow circles. He ran his hands from my inner thighs out to my knees, pushing them farther apart as I squeezed him, the slight twinge my muscles making me even more aware of the building sensations inside.

"Oh, god," I whispered, lowering myself, taking him in as deeply as I could manage. I could feel him shuddering as I squeezed him tightly again; the look in his eyes telling me that he wouldn't last much longer if I kept that up.

I could have ran my fingers down to my clit and let us finish there, but I'd only built half of the tension I wanted to have, so I slowly slid him out of me, moving away from his body completely and discarding my dress. Leaning over his chest, I ran my fingers through the light hair and kissed him again. His arms reached out and pulled me to him, once again bringing the length of our bodies into contact. The feel of his skin, hot and sweaty against mine made me sigh and his tongue slipped into my mouth again. He brought a hand in between out bodies and felt his way down to the folds of my pussy, stroking the sensitive lips and tracing light circles over my clit.

It was only moments before I began to feel myself coming closer and closer to the edge of losing control, but I wanted him inside me when I came. Pulling back one more time, I bit him again, unable to control the surge of lust running through me. I moved to the end of his bed, my ass facing him, pushing up onto my hands and knees. I didn't even have the chance to look over my shoulder at him before I felt him behind me, pushing into me so hard I thought I was going to fall off the bed, but his hands on my waist steadied me.




Cupid's Project



My own hand found its way to my clit as he pumped into me faster and faster, his excitement at the position making him feel even bigger. I pushed my ass back, leaning into the thrust of his cock, my shallow breaths feeding quick moans that matched the speed of his panting. Again he pulled my hair, driving into me, the front of his legs clinging sweatily to the backs of mine as I finally surrendered to the demands of my body and allowed myself to cum. 

Primally, I screamed the word yes, my fingers grabbing the weight of the comforter as waves pulsed through me, radiating from my center out to my fingers, my toes, my ears and probably the tips of my hair. His hips kept rocking behind me, but I was lost in the feel of my own body, feeling as though my own skin couldn't contain me anymore.

"Shit," I heard him say in a long drawn out whisper behind me. I could feel his hot cum spewing forth into me in surges, but I could no more move than fly. I vaguely wished for him to feel as good as me as I lay there attempting to catch my breath.

I felt him pulling out of me, laying back against the pillows with a contented sigh. Regaining my composure I moved to lay beside him, my body pressed against his side, my head on the pillow beside his. His hand came up to move sweaty strands of my hair back from my temple before he kissed me again, softly as neither of us had much energy left. My fingers caressed his face softly, trying to really see him and as our eyes met, I sought confirmation that it wasn't just me who felt like a can of soda that had been shaken and then exploded. A lazy grin spread over his face and I knew, in a way that words would never help us communicate, that we'd stumbled onto something much better than a one night stand.

"It's after midnight," he said quietly, his hand caressing my back, his body warm and hard next to mine.

"Don't say it," I warned, sure he going to rub it in about it being Valentine's Day.

He smiled and I knew that I'd been right, but to his credit he kept silent. Aside from my general dislike of the holiday, I had another reason I didn't want him to say anything. I knew that it would be the perfect opportunity for me to express very clearly what he was coming to mean to me.

"Cameron, I have something really important to ask you," I said with mock gravity. His body tensed a little beside me and he stared directly into my eyes, ready to do what he could to assuage any doubts or fears I might present him in the wake of our first time together.

"Go for it," he said quietly.

"Will you be my Valentine?"

He groaned as he leaned forward to kiss me again, "Only if you spend the next several hours, before your girlfriends come over, convincing me that you deserve it," he whispered into my ear.

I did.

* * * * *

Epilogue

Up in the heavens a winged cherub looked down upon the completion of his most recent project. Using a heart-shaped arrowhead as a pick, he strummed the chords to one of his favorite songs and sang, "Take a look at my girlfriend, she's the only one I got... And I know it sounds so old, but Cupid got me in a chokehold, and I'm afraid I might give in -- towel's on the mat my white flag is wavin'."