Groaning, I sit back and close my eyes, trying to push the images away. My balls feel way too full as if my seed is trying to escape.
Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.
Suddenly I find it ridiculous that I’d ever try to be with anybody else, that I’d think it could possibly work. There’s no one else for me.
Penny is the only woman I will ever want, ever need.
Not that I ever thought anybody else was the one. But the idea that I’d try, for the sake of trying, causes a sickness to twist my gut. It was a fool’s game, thinking I could pursue anybody but my Penny.
Keeping my eyes firmly closed, I realize it doesn’t matter. Just because I feel this way, it doesn’t change the fact that rushing into things can often end in disaster.
There’s no way Penny feels the same.
I have to take this slow.
I open my eyes with a dark laugh.
Take it slow.
“Take it slow” means I’ve already decided I’m going to pursue her.
But how?
I click out of her bio. It’s difficult to banish her image from the screen, but I know I won’t be able to resist the urge to grip my throbbing length if I don’t. It’s the way she’s smiling, with that youthful innocent glint in her eyes, like she’s ready for her older man to take the lead.
The main portion of the website shows a selection of questions with the answers beneath. They range from advice about the best meals to cook for a visiting family member, to the best way to break up with someone. Reading through Penny’s answers, my heart drums with even more fervor.
She writes confidently, and empathetically, always keeping the feelings of her readers in mind.
More and more, she’s convincing me of what a perfect partner she’s going to make.
Slow down.
Clicking on another section, I see that she’s posted an entry this evening. This section is a diary-like page, a place for her to catalog her thoughts. The other entries talk about her new job and her dreams of one day becoming a TV show host.
My respect for her grows, along with my passion. My woman knows exactly what she wants and she’s going after it with determination.
Her latest entry is titled I just don’t know…
I lean forward, reading, struggling to keep my feelings contained. Every moment, a completely new emotion I’ve never felt before threatens to overrule the civilized part of me.
A reader recently asked me for some advice concerning a first date, her entry reads. Normally, I’d do what I do. Think through their problem. Try to view it objectively. Hope I can offer some valuable advice or perspective. But the truth is, my awesome-as-heck readers, I’ve never had a proper date before. I’ll understand if some of you want to stop reading right here. Who do I think I am – you might be thinking – dishing out advice when I’m so inexperienced?
She needs me as badly as I need her.
We were made for each other.
I grab the edge of the desk, causing the computer to tremble as my hands shake. The word inexperienced reverberates in my mind, scratching at my resolve. She’s as young and innocent as the animal inside of me hoped.
I can practically hear the moans she will make, like music to my ears, when I make her mine.
For that reason, she goes on, I’m thinking of taking a short break from answering relationship-type questions. Please comment below if you think this is a good idea. Or am I letting my anxiety get the better of me? (We all know it wouldn’t be the first time!) Love you all x
I scroll to the comments. There are nineteen so far, all of them telling her she’s doing a great job. She should continue. My chest hums at the knowledge my woman has built such a loyal readership, all by herself, using her own initiative.
Suddenly, an idea occurs to me, a way I might be able to see her again without letting fly with the full brunt of my yearning.
I’ll be able to get close to her, consume her body with my gaze, and indulge in her scent.
It’s difficult to focus as I click the contact me page and then scroll down to the email form.
Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe I should stop.
But instead, I start typing. Not giving myself time to think it through.
I know one thing.
Whatever happens, I can’t let this woman go.
CHAPTER FIVE
Penny
Sitting on the bus the next morning, I stare down at my phone, hardly believing what my eyes are telling me… what my eyes have been telling me ever since I woke up.
I checked my phone first thing, intending to read through the comments on my latest blog post, but instead, my attention was drawn to the email in my inbox.