Every day she goes to class at the University. I gave her use of the Jeep Wrangler, pleased to find out that she does know how to drive a stick shift. She goes to class every day, returns for lunch, then leaves again. All while I attempt to hide out in my study. But her regular schedule makes it easier to stay out of sight. There are very few surprises.
And yet…
It's like an extended game of hide and seek, almost. Of course, I'm the only one playing it. I know this is my imagination, but some part of me is always on alert. I sometimes catch the flash of her light blonde hair as she rounds a corner. I find drops of water at the bottom of the sink and know she's just washed her dishes. I hear her light footsteps above me.
Every time, a spring coils tighter inside me. I'm happy to know she's here, but I also want to cross paths with her. The scenes get carried away in my mind. I imagine making it look like an accident, just happening to be in the hallway at the same time as her.
Then I remember, that is sort of creepy. I should definitely not do that.
Then again, it's nice how efficiently this worked out. I'm happy to know that I was right about her. She's very studious just like I thought she would be, very dedicated to her studies. She has done everything that I asked her at the beginning, without complaining or creating more than the slightest ripple in my life.
Which I’m happy about. No ripples. Great.
I feel the vibration of the overhead garage door as she leaves for class and realize the coast is clear and I can arise and begin my day. When I hear the vibration again, that's the door closing behind her.
I stare at the ceiling for another minute or two, just breathing. Waiting for my heartbeat to slow down. She’s gone. I can relax.
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I get out of bed, tucking the blankets back into place behind me and fluffing the pillows. This is the one place in the house that hasn’t changed. Her scent has not yet invaded this room. The sheets haven’t yet succumbed to her weight.
Yet.
Wait.
Am I really thinking that?
Yes I am. The bed is made but I just stare at it for a few moments, tempting myself with thoughts of her invasion here. How the left pillow would indent under her hair. How her long legs would extend under the blankets, creating a whole new topography above the bedspread. A whole new warmth underneath.
New shapes to explore, new valleys to traverse. The feral, heated presence of another animal in my den constantly reminding me of my own human presence.
Okay, but that’s not going to happen.
Aggravated with myself, I turn to my dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out a pair of cotton briefs and some shorts. I need a run. I need to clear my head.
But she keeps popping back into my consciousness, like all those small hints of her around the house. I try to concentrate on other things, but there she is.
I need to relieve this pressure. How much is one man supposed to endure?
Staring at the bed, the empty space there, I can almost see a ghost of her. Her sweet smile, her welcoming stare. The fresh shorts drop from my fingers as I stare back at the invisible image, letting my body respond to that promise.
My hand drifts down my abdomen, finding my cock already stiff and bulging with urgency. As I wrap my fingers around it, the longing swells intensely.
I can’t resist. I know it. I need this release.
My free hand grips the bedpost as I jerk myself much slower than I want to, letting the image of her solidify. Her hair fanned over the pillow. Her shoulder just visible above the blanket. She bites her lower lip and mouths my name as she pulls the blanket down. Inviting me in, begging me…
As the heat builds in my abdomen and under my balls, I feel that familiar clench and remember that it's been a long, long time since I've been with a woman. Work has taken over my life to such an extent that I can't make the time for someone the way that another person deserves.
I shouldn’t. I don’t need this distraction either. It will go away if I ignore it. I should stop now...
I have to give in. I have to take the edge off. It’s too much to keep going around like this. Something has to give.
As I stroke my shaft firmly in my palm, I grip the bedpost tighter. It feels so good, amazingly good. Better than I would have expected. The ghost of her keeps taunting me, dragging me further down the path.
The image of her bare throat flashes through my mind. Her chest heaving slightly as she pushes the blankets down further. Her hips swiveling back and forth as she wriggles against the blankets, begging me to join her. Her graceful hands, digging against the sheets.
In moments I'm thrusting harder into my fist, letting the urgency build. I can imagine her finally kicking the blankets the rest of the way down, exposing her slender, long legs. The pink swatch of her panties is just barely visible before she lunges forward, crawling to meet me. Then she is touching me, wrapping those long fingers around me, teasing me with her featherlight touch. Wanting to please me, letting me please her. Her eyes half-lidded and intense. Her breath through her parted lips.