Part 4: Distraction

I made it home without being fully aware of how I got there. My head was down and my mind filled with images of David. I couldn’t shake that feeling in my stomach, much less the heat in my thighs. I wanted him in a way I had never wanted anyone else. I wanted to tumble him in my white cotton sheets. I wanted to take off his braces, touch his legs with my fingers, with my tongue. Movement in the hips and knees left a pretty good prognosis for sexual function. I wanted to pin him on his back with my own weight while I drove him deep inside me.

I stared at my computer screen and shook my head. I had not typed anything and the surgeon’s voice droned on in my ears. I stopped the audio file and leaned back in my chair, eyes closed. I had never felt like this before. Not even as a teenager had I mooned over some boy, doodling his name on my notebooks when I should have been paying attention in class. It wasn’t as noble as it sounds. The jock boys never looked in my direction. The chess club boys who were much more my speed lacked the ability to speak to a female. And the few geeky boys who did ask me out were turned away by my own shyness. I didn’t find them attractive. I knew, even then, what turned me on. I had written about it for years. Stories about my super-smart, super-sweet knight in shining leg braces. I would write the stories and shred them in fear of anyone finding out. But I remember them all. All the characters changed as I grew up. I left them behind sometime in college when I made friends and had to be normal. Then life got in the way of imagination once I graduated and took on adult responsibilities. I dated. I did the normal stuff. But something was always missing. Sex never fulfilled me like I hoped it would. I thought for many years I was a lesbian. But experimenting in that area proved that not to be true. I wanted a man’s touch. I had never found the right man. I contented myself with an assortment of battery-operated boyfriends and my own touch, fixating on the images drawn by my own mind. Much less hassle. I sucked at one-night-stands. Back to the lack of bedside manner.

And now that I was comfortable with being alone, I had to meet David. What did it mean? He was already disrupting my world. My routine was altered. I couldn’t focus on my work. I was starting to get angry. This was no good. “Damn!” I tossed my headset down on the desk.

“Meow?” Percy put a paw on my leg and looked at me with bright green eyes. I never tossed things and he was obviously concerned.

“It’s okay.” I gathered his soft body up into my lap, stroking his fur. Fuzz therapy. Best thing in the world. He nuzzled under my chin and made me smile. I dropped him to the floor and pushed back my chair. Yes, it was hot as hell outside. Already 85 degrees at 9;33. David would be on his conference call…

“No, Kaida.” I stopped myself. “You are going for another run to get this out of your system. Then you are coming home to a cold shower. No transcripts; no pay.”

The harsh tone was one I often took with myself. Used mainly for when I wanted that second brownie or the expensive cobalt-blue designer food bowls Hoshi and Percy definitely did not need, it served to tell me when I was letting my wants get ahead of my needs. And right now I needed to focus and get myself back on track. My life was structured because that was how I lived it best. Change didn’t figure into my plans.

The run did me good. I was exhausted by the time I got back to the apartment. The heat had taken away the stiffness of my bones and I felt noodly as I let myself into the climate-controlled air of the apartment. Two window units cooled the small space quite effectively. I stretched for a moment against the living room wall, feeling pleasure as the muscles in my calves lengthened.

I made my way to the bathroom, not surprised to find Hoshi curled up in the sink. He loves water. I scratched behind his ears and stripped of my running clothes. I did not study myself in the mirror. I knew what I would see: black bangs hanging damp against my forehead, sweat streaking my bright red cheeks, soaked t-shirt. I let my hair out of its ponytail and turned on the water. No need to wait for it to heat, I wanted it cool.

My skin reacted immediately to the chill and goose bumps rose on my arms. I let the water stream over me, washing away the sweat. Washing away the desire. I shampooed my hair for the second time that day, grabbed the soap and lathered my chest. My nipples were hard and I thought of David. I stopped still. I was supposed to be too tired for these thoughts. The run was punishment. The cold shower was punishment. I needed to focus. But my wants were ahead of my needs and I couldn’t stop thinking that my hands were his as I tweaked and pulled. I slid my hand over my soapy belly down into the curly black thatch between my thighs. I found my rhythm quickly from many years of practice and it wasn’t long before I moaned in pleasure as I came, imagining David’s hands had done all the work. I was now hollow and warm inside. But my skin was cold. I sat down in the tub, adjusted the water temperature so that my outside became as warm as my inside and let the water flow over me. I now had a real-life star for my special time with myself.

But that was enough. I didn’t want or need any more disruption. I turned off the water and stood up, angry again. Damn. No work done. Pleasuring myself mid-morning, which was something I reserved for bedtime. My carefully constructed world was starting to crumble after no more than three brief conversations with a handsome man in leg braces. I had to stop this now.

I dressed quickly and forced myself to sit at the computer until the transcription was done. It took me twice as long as usual to get up to my normal pace and I was sure I would have to do some serious editing. But it was done. And it was time to feed the cats, make my own dinner, eat, clean up the kitchen, watch an hour’s worth of TV, read more of my Fern Michaels book and get in bed in time to get up and start over again.

To be continued...