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In addition to not having loans, that hundred bucks for bills can go toward getting my car back on its maintenance schedule to make it last until my degree is in hand. I scroll through the document as Wilder pays and makes small talk with the waiter. He’s thought of everything in this document, even down to what time we break up on the fifteenth of February.
“Why noon on the day after Valentine’s Day?” I ask after the waiter leaves. “Why do we need a time?”
“If things get a little wild, we can sleep in and enjoy a nice breakfast. Personally, I don’t like being pushed out the door with an apple or granola bar any time I leave a place. I prefer to take my time.”
My eyebrows push together with such intensity that they almost touch. “Wilder, how long did it take you to draft this? Did you do it last night?”
He bites his lip, and his cheeks darken. Tilting his head to the side, he reaches for my hand. His thumb strokes my palm and makes a leisurely circle that makes me want to melt into a puddle of butter. “Of course, I did it last night. I just couldn’t sleep last night after I met you. I want this to be perfect.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek and think. But I can’t concentrate when his thumb is circling the heel of my hand like that…like he knows exactly how to circle his thumb over other body parts.
“You can shower, but don’t touch my bubble bath. I want that added.”
October 16 - Wilder
I shove my rolled-up tent and camping supplies under the queen-sized guest bed and throw my duffle bag on top of the pink floral comforter with green accents. It looks like a Laura Ashley display room threw up in here, but it’s warm and homey with a little oak dresser in the corner and an old-fashioned alarm clock on a small nightstand.
There are a few pictures around the room. I recognize Savannah’s mother from the speed dating event. If the rumors are true about women turning out like their mothers, I’m almost sorry this won’t be a long-term thing. Judging by her mother, whoever ends up with Savannah will be a lucky man.
I unzip my duffle bag and get my socks and underwear out, walking them to the dresser and tossing them inside. I said I’d vacuum. I didn’t say my drawers were going to be neat.
I felt bad lying to her about making that contract up after our meeting. In fact, that contract has been a work in progress since 2017, and I make a mental note to include a blurb in future years that says I won’t touch my partner’s toiletries or bubble bath without permission. I’m sure 2024 will be appreciative of that the way 2019 appreciated the toilet paper blurb after 2018 raked me over the coals about the proper way to hang it.
Savannah also didn’t flinch at the remark that I may not come home sometimes. That’s a necessary blurb. A man has needs, and I’ve never had a hard time getting them met. Women at bars are more than accommodating to sucking me off or letting me spend the night if Savannah and I don’t have that kind of relationship. I have that bad boy vibe with a constant cigarette hanging out of my mouth and my usual mug of beer in hand. I’ve never been a one-woman guy, but I’m not trying to be disrespectful to my cuffing season partners. Then again, 2021 liked to watch me with other women, especially her friends. I still remember that year fondly.
Personally, I’d love to slide myself between Savannah’s legs and see if I can open her up in more ways than one. She seems so closed off, like she needs a night of hot sex and fun so she can live a little.
“Settling in?” she asks, knocking on the door frame and looking around the room. I adjust my dick behind the duffle bag since the thought of being between her legs has it twitching for attention. Thankfully, she doesn’t notice and probably thinks I’m just rifling through an outside pocket.
“I think so. My camping supplies are under the bed, and I have plenty of room for clothes. Are you staying here today?”
She shakes her head. “I’m heading to work. Are you staying today?”
She works her lips when she asks it, and I can tell she’s not comfortable leaving me alone in her apartment yet. “I need to go look for work. I’ll probably have something by the end of the day, but I may be late.”
“Do you want me to leave the door unlocked?” she asks.
“No, I’ll just wait for you outside and watch Netflix if I beat you back.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds, and she wrings her hands. There’s an awkwardness here, and I know I’m responsible for it. I know we’ll get past it over the next few days. At least, that’s how it’s worked in the past. She’s just shaken from me springing the contract on her, and she’s not used to having a man in her personal space.
She looks around the room, nods, and leaves without saying a word. “Mind if I take a shower before I go?” I call after her. My dick needs attention, and I’m sure not jerking off in her flowery bed.
“Go ahead. Towels are on the top shelf of the linen closet. Lock up when you leave. I need to go. I think I’ll take a walk before work.”
The apartment door slams as she leaves, and I grab my toiletry bag. I’m sure her shampoo is lovely and expensive, but I’m a simple man and don’t want to smell like a woman’s shampoo. Opening her linen closet, I about gag again. Not one manly towel in sight. Floral and pink are everywhere, and I grab a solid dark pink towel which is the manliest option in the cabinet.
Beggars can’t be choosers, though. I make a mental note to get a black towel at my next Target stop and reach over to start the water.
Steam fills the room, and the sound of rushing water fills my ears. Looking down, my dick is at full mast with the thought of Savannah and that guest bed. I haven’t seen her bed yet since she’s been protective of her bedroom, but I cross my fingers that her bed is something more neutral if I’m ever lucky enough to see it.
I step into the bathtub with a shower attachment and draw the curtain, letting the warm water run down my body. I’ll get to the fun stuff in a minute, but I wash my hair first, taking time to scrub my scalp and leaning my head back so the suds run down my shoulders.
As soon as my hair is clean, I put one hand on the white tile wall and close my eyes as I run my other hand down my abdomen to my dick bobbing just below my belly button. I grip it at the base and squeeze up until my hand slides off the tip. I move back down and rub my balls and the underside of my cock until I hit the frenulum, wishing my finger was a tongue hitting that special little spot.
I rotate between the movements of rubbing my balls, rubbing the frenulum, and squeezing my cock from base to tip. But something isn’t getting me there.
Is it because I’m in a new place? Is it like trying to sleep the first night in a hotel? I need a little help, and I open the shower curtain, looking around the room for assets. Maybe she has some nice lotion or something that can give me a little more glide.
