Page 23 of Baby Girl

And in my short time on this earth, I have learned that men can’t keep a woman. Erik, by his own admittance to me, wouldn’t keep me. We weren’t, according to him, even in a relationship. It was a relationship, but it wasn’t. As soon as I fucked up, or as soon as he felt I needed him to survive, I would be tossed aside. He would spend a month, year, or decade recovering, and on to the next woman he would go.

Even knowing these things about him didn’t stop me from wanting him. I wanted him more than I have ever wanted anything in my life. I want to please him, provide for him, make him happy, make him proud, and make him want me as much as I wanted him. The odds of that happening were slim, but I continued to feel that way.

When we first started seeing each other, I felt like it was going to be nothing more than a few good weeks of fucking; just some really good sex. After a week, I started wondering what my friends may think about him being fifteen years older than me. I decided I wouldn’t tell them how old he was, and if they asked, I would say that I didn’t know his age. After a few weeks, I didn’t care about what anyone might think. I only thought of Erik, and what his desires with me were. Fulfilling those desires were all that really mattered to me after spending a few weeks of time with Erik.

I am beginning to understand what it feels like to actually experience having loving thoughts for someone other than a family member. The irony in the entire situation was that Erik would eventually want to stop seeing me, and at some point in time, the summer would end, and I was to go to New York to school.

The question, I suppose, is which one would come first. For fear of Erik reacting with immediate rejection, I decided not to tell him of my commitment to my father or about school. I did not want this to end, at least not by my making.

Driving to meet Erik for lunch, I yearned for him to touch me, to tell me to do something. To hear him call me baby girl. To place his hands on my neck and squeeze it lightly as he spoke to me. To press me against the wall and have his way with me. Every time we met, he became a little bit more in control of me. Partially because I became more willing to try to make him want me, and partially because he was beginning to include more challenging sexual tasks in our time together.

Thinking of Erik and lunch, I began to tingle. We were to meet at Il Vicino again. A simple thought of that place made me wet. As I exited the highway onto Rock road, I crossed my legs. His hands. His posture. His voice. His smell. His presence. Erik. Fucking. Ead.

Ohmyfcukinggodmyheadisgoingtoexplode.

ERIK. It was cool for the middle of the month. Typically, in July, the weather would be in excess of 100 degrees. It was 80 degrees and 10:30 a.m., but the forecast called for a high of 85. It had been fabulous summer for riding motorcycles. We had received more rain than normal, and the lakes and rivers were full of water for once, after about ten consecutive years of some form of a drought. The rain that we had received was mostly at night, and had not hindered riding, as most days had been sunny after the previous night’s rain.

She smiled as she stepped over the small stone wall into the patio area. As soon as I saw her approach, I stood. Walking her direction, I opened my arms to welcome her. Greetings and departures for me had always included a hug. Male or female companions received the same thing from me. If someone wouldn’t hug me, I was never comfortable that they were genuine.

“How’s my baby girl?” I asked as we embraced.

“I love it when you call me that,” she responded.

“I know you do, Kelli. I know you do.”

“I’m great, now,” she said, stepping back and scrutinizing my attire.

“You dress so simple, but you always look so good,” she said, chuckling as she said good.

“Thank you, Kelli. I appreciate the compliments.”

As always, I had worn a dark tee shirt and dark jeans. The tee shirt fit tight to my body, but was not a tight tee shirt. One of my pet peeves was to see a guy that wore what we always had jokingly called a shmedium shirt, a cross between a small and a medium. Clearly, most who wore a shmedium shirt needed a large. My shirts fit tight because of my body structure, and not because I bought them smaller than they should be.

“I love the way you smell. You always smell the same. The other day at work, a guy walked past me, and he was wearing that cologne, Yves Saint Laurent. The L’Homme. I actually got mad, because he smelled like you. I didn’t change how I felt when I smelled it.”

“How was that, Kelli?”

“You know,” she responded.

“No, I want you to tell me. Tell me, Kelli.”

“Oh, God. Well, I…I started thinking of you. Just, I suppose, in general. But my thoughts about you are always thoughts that end up in the gutter,” she said, smiling.

She was wearing shorts, a tee shirt, and Chucks. Girls in canvas sneakers, especially Converse Chucks made me weak. I always found the canvas sneakers to be a tremendous turn-on; probably to the same degree that most men perceived girls in high heels. Chucks, to me, were an 8” come fuck me pump. As I admired her outfit, I realized we were still standing by the wall.

“Let’s sit, Kelli. I have already ordered for us both,” I said as I took a step in the direction of the table.

I walked toward the table to sit down, and pulled out a chair for her. I walked to the other side of the table and sat, crossing my legs. As we began to talk, I watched her mouth move, her lips form words, and her hands move as she spoke - making gestures to compliment the verbal communication she offered.

“I love listening to you speak, Kelli. The silence between your words annoys me. I prefer that you speak constantly, and never stop. Something about hearing you talk comforts me or turns me on. Or both.”

“I’m glad you like to hear me talk. It makes me feel good that you say that, whether or not you mean it,” she responded.

“Kelli, let me tell you something. If I say something to you, I mean it. Always. I have no reason to tell you something that isn’t true. Do you understand me?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, looking down at her feet as she responded.

“Come here, Kelli,” I said in a sharp tone, pointing to the area beside my chair.