Authors: Ava Michaels
"So,
you started raiding villages as a pirate?" I asked, jokingly.
"I
want to say yes to that, but it would be a lie," he said, grinning.
"But I actually got into sailing because I knew it was a thing that rich
people do and it would get me into the right circles."
I
thought about it. That was clever foresight for an eighteen year old.
"But
when I started mingling with those groups, I didn't feel right. Sailing wasn't
the sailing you read about in Patrick O'Brian books," he said and I gave a
quizzical expression to this part. "Patrick O'Brian is an author of
nautical stories. He's like the Stephen King of nautical stuff."
I
nodded, pretending I understood what he was talking about.
"So
sailing wasn't all pillaging, wenches, and rum?" I asked, smiling
slightly.
“That
would have been a lot more fun. No,” he shook his head. “The majority of people
I met who had the luxury of having boats were just assholes. I mean, at the
yacht club I thought I wanted to belong to, they would have these huge parties
and get so drunk they would trash their own clubhouse.” He grabbed a loose
piece of rope and fumbled a few quick knots with it. “Here I was trying to make
a good impression and the guy who won the Mackinaw the previous year was passed
out cold in the lobby of the club as soon as you walk in. They didn’t have any
respect for themselves. How can you be around people like that?”
"So
you just stopped sailing because of them?"
"No,
I still sail from time to time. Mr. Johansen knows that I have a love for
sailing and he lets me borrow boats from time to time, especially when it's a
special occasion like this one."
Hmm,
so Big Stick had not only a geeky soul, a sailor’s soul, but he was no
push-over. I sat up to give him my full attention. Those elevator rides made
him seem… Like a player… A Big Stick… Multiple times… But he was so much more
than that…
"I
think that was a good decision," I said with a smile.
He
smiled back at me, grabbed my bare foot and squeezed it in a way that made my
heart flutter. That was a boyfriend sort of thing to do. I squirmed just a
little because it tickled.
"So,
Captain, my Captain, where are we off to?" I asked, scanning the horizon
like he had done before, affecting a strong pose.
He
laughed at me.
"There
is a small island in the middle of Crystal lake that is perfect for picnics. I
thought you might like some of my actual cooking this time."
”You
actually cooked? What have we
got,
some peanut-butter
and jelly sandwiches, potato chips in those little bags for lunches, and
Capri-Sun too?” I said and smiled at him laughing.
This
was nice. I needed this in my life right now.
Nothing
confusing, everything just right.
Big Stick was getting closer to
fulfilling his username…
………
We
pulled up to the small island, which was barely six hundred feet across, and
Big Stick jumped out and pulled the boat into the little rocky shoal. Although
I could have jumped out and dragged the boat in with him, I thought it was time
to let him be the man. He helped my dainty little
self off
the boat and onto the rocks and tied the bow to a tree that hung over the
water.
He
then fetched the wine and picnic basket as I started exploring the island. It
wasn't very large, but there was a perfect little clearing in the middle,
blanketed with pine needles and with a little shade that he laid down a blanket
and the picnic basket on. The air smelled totally different here than it did on
the water. It smelled like grass, flowers, growing things, and dirt. You could hear
plump bumble bees as they jumped from flower to flower getting even plumper
with pollen.
"So
where did you actually get a picnic basket like that?" I asked. It was a
traditional Little Red Riding Hood basket with a tea towel tucked in on top
with cross stitched flowers of a rainbow of colors on the corner.
"It seems like a story book style of
picnic basket."
He
smiled. "It's actually my grandmother's. She lives in town and she heard
about my date and said I could borrow it."
My
heart flipped right there. His grandmother, who he stays close to, lives in
town and lent him this amazing picnic basket for our date? Also, he told his
grandmother about us?
"Oh,
you told your Nana we were going out? Boy, you better
slow
down," I said. "You'll take my heart before long if you keep it
up."
“Fine by me.”
He
laid out the blanket for me, and I kicked off my sandals, spread my dress and
sat down in a very proper manner with the help of his hand.
He
uncorked the bottle of wine and poured me a glass, which I gratefully accepted.
It was a
Chenin
Blanc, a very tart wine that tasted
just like the earth it was grown in, with a slightly fruity balance to it. I
knew this and shared it with him because I had watched a wine show recently
that featured this exact wine. As he laughed at me I pretended to polish my
nails on my chest like I was some kind of expert.
He
laid out quite a spread of food: Greek pasta salad, little
tramezzini
corner cut tuna fish sandwiches with lemon chili mayo, oven fried chicken on a
stick which I thought was clever, an olive, French cheese plate, and apple
crumb squares.
He
went to all these lengths to please me today. It wasn't the control that I
liked,
it was that he spent so many hours today and
yesterday thinking about me. That's what I liked the most.
"How
long did it take you to make all of this?" I asked.
"Ah,
I don't know," he said, trying to pass off the question. "Well, I
didn't actually make the apple crumb squares. My grandmother made those, but I
made the rest."
I
couldn’t help but smile, raise my eyebrows to the middle of my forehead, and
put my hand to my heart in surprise. "Your grandma sounds like a real nice
lady," I said, taking a sip of wine as he laid me a sampler plate of all
his delicious creations. “Please tell her I said thank you.”
"She
is a nice lady. Gram’s has always been a tough old bird. Her first husband died
in Korea, and then she just soldiered on, typing for the NSA and raising two
children," he said, with pride in his voice. "It wasn't easy for her,
which makes it hard now that all of the family has moved out west and people
only come to see her once a year."
"You're
a good grandson to keep her company," I said.
He
nodded. "I hope you don't mind that I've talked with her about you."
I
smiled. "I don't mind at all. I think it's…” I struggled for the right
word as I blushed but only came up with, “Very cute."
"She
asked me if I would invite you over for high tea sometime," he said,
smiling an awkward smile.
"I
actually know high tea and I love it," I said. I actually did, even though
it was a very strange outdated practice. "I love the tea ceremony, and I
am very partial to ham salad sandwiches, as cheap as that makes me sound."
He
laughed.
"Grams
are for anyone who wants to have high tea, and she knows the poverty that brings
on a love of ham salad sandwiches," he said, then realized what he said.
"No, I didn't actually mean that you were poor, I was just saying that ham
salad used to be a poor people's thing, almost like quinoa..."
I
laughed at his stumbling.
"I
know what you meant, and yeah, ham salad isn't really a poor person's thing
anymore. No one has the time to dice ham that fine and preserve it like that.
It's strange how poor people things then become rich people things and vice
versa," I said thoughtfully.
We
had a nice moment of silence, looking up at the sparse pine trees and feeling
the wind blow through them.
We
ate a little, drank a little more and I asked him about his short-lived sailing
career. He apparently had won a few tournaments in his time, but I had to press
him to get those out.
There
was a moment when he was refilling my wine, where our eyes connected.
I
set my cup to the side and leaned in to him. I gently kissed his lips that were
sweet from the wine. My mind had shut off. There were no tumultuous thoughts or
conflicting emotions like there had been last night. I was completely in the
moment with Big Stick…
Alone with him.
I
gently pulled back from him and looked seriously into his eyes. I studied his
face, and his hair, touching them gently as if they were made of porcelain. I
leaned back in to kiss his neck and breathe no words but just my desire into
his ear. His arms tightened around my waist and he pulled his breath in quickly
as he pulled me on top of him. I was nervous. My body seemed to know what it
wanted. My hands grasped his hair as our lips met. I felt myself pull closer
and closer to him, my hips grinding gently against his.
In one motion I sat up, still straddling him
and pulled the top of my dress down to expose my breasts. I didn’t feel
self-conscious or awkward. I felt excited and confident and I wanted Big Stick
to feel that way too. He unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his perfectly defined
chest. I leaned back down and felt all the blood in my body race as the warmth
of our bodies connected.
As
we kissed, I reached down and, a little clumsily, unbuttoned his pants and
gently pulled the zipper down. This was it. I was ready. I wanted to lose my
virginity here, with this man, right now. It wasn’t the alcohol. It was him.
Not just Big Stick, but his real name, Ryder Dawson. He was the man worthy
enough.
"Are
you sure?" he asked.
I
didn't reply but instead kissed him feverishly. I pressed my body against his
and then pulled him on top of me. He was beyond words already and was looking
at me with a wild abandon. He kissed me deep, bringing his strong hands to my
hips and started taking my yellow thong off gently. I felt a quiver run through
me as he slipped it over my ankles and off. He bent his head down and kissed me
on the stomach, then drew his tongue over to the edges of my pelvis and kissed
deep there, while circling his tongue in a way that made me lift my hips off
the ground.
“You…”
He kissed my left inner thigh. “Taste…” He kissed my right inner thigh.
“Outstanding…” He kissed my lower stomach. “I
can’t wait…
To taste…
All of you…”
Jesus…
Penus… The way he spoke and what he was about to do to me… Made me ache for his
mouth… His tongue... It was like waiting for the waiter when you’re starving.
I… Was… Starving…
For Attention…
Sweet
passionate attention.
When
he finally flicked his tongue over my clit, I exploded in pleasure. As he
seduced me, working me into a frenzy, the rain started to pour down over us.
"
Nooooo
."
I
didn’t moan, no. I purred like I was eating ice cream. He stopped so I looked
down at him.
“Don’t
stop…”
“You’re
purring.”
“That
means you’re doing it right…”
I
pushed his head back down and he kissed between my breasts. I pushed down again
and he kissed my bellybutton. I pushed his head down once more and he kissed
my… Aching core! If a guy pushed my head down I would have been pissed, but
damn it, he had started this so my purring wasn’t going to stop him from
finishing the job!
He
pushed my knees to the side of my lower chest, opening me further. I looked
down at him doing to me what no man had EVER done. He kissed, licked, kissed,
and then licked again. His eyes moved slowly up, staring into my eyes while he
gently and expertly massaged my clit. The pressure building became too much and
I closed my eyes, arching my back to ride the waves of pleasure.
I
wanted more though. I wanted him inside me. But, he wouldn’t stop. He continued
for what felt like forever…
Forever of pleasure…
I
rolled my hips with his amazing tongue techniques. Finally, I came.
I
came hard.
It
was like a bolt of lightning striking over our heads, which there actually was
one.
I
shuddered, the tingling and shocking feeling running through my body and I
couldn't think anymore. It was like a blinding white light holding my body in
paralysis. I arched my back and just held it like that for a moment. Lightning
was striking around me and all through me. I knew he was the perfect lover. It
was like he had a nine inch tongue and could breathe through his ears…
When
I finally snapped my eyes open, recovering from my orgasm, white light sparked
around me as I had begun to lose consciousness. When I finally recovered
enough, I saw Big Stick looking at me. I blushed, still panting, just a little
embarrassed at how loud or how clumsy or how silly I might have been. But, then
he climbed up to me and kissed me passionately. I could taste myself on his lips
but didn’t care. I inhaled the smell of his skin, the feel of his hair in my
hands and kissed him back. I couldn’t speak. Damn, my sensitive area was like a
lollipop. It wasn’t the flick of the tongue that did the trick. It was how many
times it flicked that did the job.