Part 1: Won't You Stay for Breakfast?
My big teddy bear, Trevor, knew what was good for him and so he stuck around until the morning, even though his feet hung off the end of my double bed.
“Good morning,” I said as he nudged my butt cheeks with his erection.
He grabbed me tight from behind, spooning me while also, um, trying to fork me through my panties.
I tried to pull away from him, but he growled in my ear and held me tighter.
Squealing, I said, “Coffee! Coffee first, then I'm all yours.”
He nuzzled my ear and neck from behind, his chin scratchy from a day's worth of beard growth.
Truth was, I had a bit of a sticky situation in my panties (only getting worse by the minute) and I wanted to freshen up in the shower. Guys always assume we're sweet and delicious and lovely, like fresh peaches down there, but it does take some effort!
I gently bit him on the arm until he yelped and released me. I scrambled out of the too-small bed and scampered to my bathroom.
I peered back over my shoulder at him, the big teddy bear in my bed.
Trevor was older than me, early thirties, and divorced. He claimed to have some baggage and a lack of desire to talk about it, but he seemed okay to me. He worked with my big sister, her boss at a real estate development company. Nikki set him up with me because she has an aversion to body hair, and Trevor had a gorgeous trail of curls leading from his neck to … all the good parts. It was hard to tear myself away from him, looking so awkward in my pink sheets, but I ran to the shower and tried to rush the job.
I was just climbing out when he came into the bathroom. “I put the coffee pot on,” he said, giving me a kiss. “Should be ready for you, and I'll be right out.”
I gave him another kiss, and a hug, and let him take over the shower.
Out in my bedroom, I threw on a robe and looked for something clean and comfy for Trevor to borrow, but who was I kidding? A petite girl like me wouldn't have anything for him to wear. I straightened up the bed and smoothed out his clothes from the night before.
Following the delicious scent of brewing coffee, I made my way to the kitchen. My parents were away, at our cabin by the lake, and I felt like such a bad girl, having a man sleep over. Bad in a good way.
I immediately called my sister, Nikki. I brought her up to speed on the awkward date Trevor and I went on the previous night. I'd sorta forced him to take me to a movie, and then after, he'd confessed that not only did I look just a little bit like his ex-wife (and by a little bit , I mean a lot), but that he wasn't a big fan of talking about his feelings.
Nikki snorted into the phone from her side. “Men love to talk about their feelings. The problem is, they only have two, and they're hungry or angry.”
“Or the third,” I said.
“Oh, right, horny.”
“Hah! No, I meant hangry . That combo, where you get mad because you're low blood sugar. Like how Dad gets if dinner's late.”
Nikki laughed at this (it was funny because it was true), then said, “Listen, Naomi, I know you haven't dated a divorced guy before—”
“Neither have you!”
“Let me finish,” she said, sounding exasperated. I could picture her making one of our mother's facial expressions, which made me want to strangle her through the phone. “People going through a divorce have a lot of stuff going on. They're in transition.”
I tapped my fingers on the sunny breakfast nook table, frustrated by her beating around the bush. “Nikki, try. Try to make a point.”
“This is a transitional relationship,” she said.
“You mean like a rebound thing?”
“Yes.”
“So?” I said sullenly.
“It's a good transition for you, too,” she said. “Have your fun, but don't get too attached.”
My mind raced ahead, putting together words and ideas. “Nikki, did you intentionally set us up so that I could be his rebound girl?”
Silence.
“Nikki?”
“What? Sorry, my cell phone just cut out.
My big teddy bear, Trevor, knew what was good for him and so he stuck around until the morning, even though his feet hung off the end of my double bed.
“Good morning,” I said as he nudged my butt cheeks with his erection.
He grabbed me tight from behind, spooning me while also, um, trying to fork me through my panties.
I tried to pull away from him, but he growled in my ear and held me tighter.
Squealing, I said, “Coffee! Coffee first, then I'm all yours.”
He nuzzled my ear and neck from behind, his chin scratchy from a day's worth of beard growth.
Truth was, I had a bit of a sticky situation in my panties (only getting worse by the minute) and I wanted to freshen up in the shower. Guys always assume we're sweet and delicious and lovely, like fresh peaches down there, but it does take some effort!
I gently bit him on the arm until he yelped and released me. I scrambled out of the too-small bed and scampered to my bathroom.
I peered back over my shoulder at him, the big teddy bear in my bed.
Trevor was older than me, early thirties, and divorced. He claimed to have some baggage and a lack of desire to talk about it, but he seemed okay to me. He worked with my big sister, her boss at a real estate development company. Nikki set him up with me because she has an aversion to body hair, and Trevor had a gorgeous trail of curls leading from his neck to … all the good parts. It was hard to tear myself away from him, looking so awkward in my pink sheets, but I ran to the shower and tried to rush the job.
I was just climbing out when he came into the bathroom. “I put the coffee pot on,” he said, giving me a kiss. “Should be ready for you, and I'll be right out.”
I gave him another kiss, and a hug, and let him take over the shower.
Out in my bedroom, I threw on a robe and looked for something clean and comfy for Trevor to borrow, but who was I kidding? A petite girl like me wouldn't have anything for him to wear. I straightened up the bed and smoothed out his clothes from the night before.
Following the delicious scent of brewing coffee, I made my way to the kitchen. My parents were away, at our cabin by the lake, and I felt like such a bad girl, having a man sleep over. Bad in a good way.
I immediately called my sister, Nikki. I brought her up to speed on the awkward date Trevor and I went on the previous night. I'd sorta forced him to take me to a movie, and then after, he'd confessed that not only did I look just a little bit like his ex-wife (and by a little bit , I mean a lot), but that he wasn't a big fan of talking about his feelings.
Nikki snorted into the phone from her side. “Men love to talk about their feelings. The problem is, they only have two, and they're hungry or angry.”
“Or the third,” I said.
“Oh, right, horny.”
“Hah! No, I meant hangry . That combo, where you get mad because you're low blood sugar. Like how Dad gets if dinner's late.”
Nikki laughed at this (it was funny because it was true), then said, “Listen, Naomi, I know you haven't dated a divorced guy before—”
“Neither have you!”
“Let me finish,” she said, sounding exasperated. I could picture her making one of our mother's facial expressions, which made me want to strangle her through the phone. “People going through a divorce have a lot of stuff going on. They're in transition.”
I tapped my fingers on the sunny breakfast nook table, frustrated by her beating around the bush. “Nikki, try. Try to make a point.”
“This is a transitional relationship,” she said.
“You mean like a rebound thing?”
“Yes.”
“So?” I said sullenly.
“It's a good transition for you, too,” she said. “Have your fun, but don't get too attached.”
My mind raced ahead, putting together words and ideas. “Nikki, did you intentionally set us up so that I could be his rebound girl?”
Silence.
“Nikki?”
“What? Sorry, my cell phone just cut out.
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