time, I began to live my life as the single arrogant bitch most of my clients described me as.
Arrogant? No.
Dissatisfied with the loss of the one man I loved, and the other who I had simply settled for? Yes.
I gazed at the concrete bench situated underneath the pergola, recalling the time Steve and I had spent there. As my focus shifted to the entire yard, I appreciated the small changes my mother had made since I’d seen it last. The sides of the brick walkway leading to the fountain in the rear of the yard once adorned with large leaf periwinkle and various hostas was now beautifully landscaped with lavender, daisies, and an occasional black-eyed Susan. The back yard had always been my mother’s place of escape, and in many respects, it was mine as well. She used the yard for therapeutic reasons after the death of my father, and I sometimes felt guilty for my less relaxing use of the beautiful space she had created. The smell of the flowers combined with the seclusion created by the depth of landscape made it a perfect area for sex. Steve and I had spent countless hours in the yard fucking on various large stones, the concrete bench, and even in the fountain. I loved fucking him in my mother’s back yard, and generally speaking, I preferred it to my bedroom. Steve’s bad-boy attitude, his take charge personality and my willingness to please the man I truly loved caused me to agree to some pretty risqué sexual situations in the five years we were in a relationship.
My eyes once again shifted to the bench and became fixed. I grinned, wondering just how many times I had pressed my chest against the cold concrete while arching my back, forcing my ass high enough in the air for Steve to satisfy my sexual desires. Many times I had bit my lower lip so hard while he fucked me that impressions of my teeth remained in my lip for an hour after we returned into the house. Although my mother never questioned me, I always felt she knew I loved the yard just as much as her, but for different reasons.
There were times when I would lay on the bench with my eyes closed as he knelt beside it. As I lay in wait, he would take his hands and…
His hands.
Oh dear God, his hands . He was a master with his hands; where to place them, and just how delicately or deliberately to use them. And there was always the issue with the use of his lips. He spent more time kissing my body than he did my mouth. He seemed to enjoy dragging his lips, teeth, and tongue along my body; teasing me until I was a frantic mess. Only when I was no longer mentally, physically, or sexually able to allow him to continue would he agree to stop. To describe Steve as sexually torturous would be an accurate understatement.
I rinsed the cup, placed it in the dishwasher, and turned off the kitchen lights. After quickly checking the house for other lights I had left on through the course of the day, I walked to the front door, reached for the door handle, and hesitated. I turned and gazed into the house which was illuminated solely by the glow of the lamp in the living room. I stood and grinned at the memories the home brought, sad I wasn’t able to bring myself to stay overnight. As I gazed down the hallway toward the door of my childhood bedroom, I felt something press against my ankle.
Somewhat confused, I glanced down at my feet.
“Meow…”
Fucking cat.
Reluctantly, I reached down and patted the cat on the head. As I turned for the door, I wiped my hand against my thigh, freeing it of the matter the cretin was certain to have left. I opened the door, stepped onto the porch and glanced inside; making certain the cat hadn’t followed me. Sitting in the entrance, the cat stared back at me with golden eyes now filled with huge black pupils, undoubtedly allowing it to sneak through the house in the dark and wreak havoc on the organized piles I had created.
I glared at her and shook my head.
“Good night Taylor. I’m going to the hotel. I’ll see your nasty
Arrogant? No.
Dissatisfied with the loss of the one man I loved, and the other who I had simply settled for? Yes.
I gazed at the concrete bench situated underneath the pergola, recalling the time Steve and I had spent there. As my focus shifted to the entire yard, I appreciated the small changes my mother had made since I’d seen it last. The sides of the brick walkway leading to the fountain in the rear of the yard once adorned with large leaf periwinkle and various hostas was now beautifully landscaped with lavender, daisies, and an occasional black-eyed Susan. The back yard had always been my mother’s place of escape, and in many respects, it was mine as well. She used the yard for therapeutic reasons after the death of my father, and I sometimes felt guilty for my less relaxing use of the beautiful space she had created. The smell of the flowers combined with the seclusion created by the depth of landscape made it a perfect area for sex. Steve and I had spent countless hours in the yard fucking on various large stones, the concrete bench, and even in the fountain. I loved fucking him in my mother’s back yard, and generally speaking, I preferred it to my bedroom. Steve’s bad-boy attitude, his take charge personality and my willingness to please the man I truly loved caused me to agree to some pretty risqué sexual situations in the five years we were in a relationship.
My eyes once again shifted to the bench and became fixed. I grinned, wondering just how many times I had pressed my chest against the cold concrete while arching my back, forcing my ass high enough in the air for Steve to satisfy my sexual desires. Many times I had bit my lower lip so hard while he fucked me that impressions of my teeth remained in my lip for an hour after we returned into the house. Although my mother never questioned me, I always felt she knew I loved the yard just as much as her, but for different reasons.
There were times when I would lay on the bench with my eyes closed as he knelt beside it. As I lay in wait, he would take his hands and…
His hands.
Oh dear God, his hands . He was a master with his hands; where to place them, and just how delicately or deliberately to use them. And there was always the issue with the use of his lips. He spent more time kissing my body than he did my mouth. He seemed to enjoy dragging his lips, teeth, and tongue along my body; teasing me until I was a frantic mess. Only when I was no longer mentally, physically, or sexually able to allow him to continue would he agree to stop. To describe Steve as sexually torturous would be an accurate understatement.
I rinsed the cup, placed it in the dishwasher, and turned off the kitchen lights. After quickly checking the house for other lights I had left on through the course of the day, I walked to the front door, reached for the door handle, and hesitated. I turned and gazed into the house which was illuminated solely by the glow of the lamp in the living room. I stood and grinned at the memories the home brought, sad I wasn’t able to bring myself to stay overnight. As I gazed down the hallway toward the door of my childhood bedroom, I felt something press against my ankle.
Somewhat confused, I glanced down at my feet.
“Meow…”
Fucking cat.
Reluctantly, I reached down and patted the cat on the head. As I turned for the door, I wiped my hand against my thigh, freeing it of the matter the cretin was certain to have left. I opened the door, stepped onto the porch and glanced inside; making certain the cat hadn’t followed me. Sitting in the entrance, the cat stared back at me with golden eyes now filled with huge black pupils, undoubtedly allowing it to sneak through the house in the dark and wreak havoc on the organized piles I had created.
I glared at her and shook my head.
“Good night Taylor. I’m going to the hotel. I’ll see your nasty
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