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“Come on,” she says. “I’m almost there again. I want everyone over there watching us to know who you’re fucking!”
I’ll be the first to admit that she’s a lot more hardcore than I am.
It’s not even a contest.
“I don’t—”
“I don’t know yours either!” she pants. “Just think of something!”
It’s not dignified and it’s not romantic.
I have no illusions there.
It is, however, surprising that the name that I call out as I feel that rising pull in my body is Leila.
It’s not that big a deal, I guess. She told me to call out a name and I called out a name. There’s no reason to read anything more into it than that.
“Oh, Wrigley!” she screams.
Wrigley? Really?
I guess it works for her, as I can feel the tense-and-release in her body as she grinds against me hard, and that does it for me.
I come hard with an eager audience across the street.
I’m a little disappointed that I don’t see or hear applause, but as my body spasms in pleasure, that disappointment quickly dissipates.
“Woo!” she interjects. “That was perfect! I’ve never done that before.”
Once my orgasm fades away, I pull out and remove the condom, cleaning first her and then myself—for obvious reasons—with the towel from the ledge.
I’m naked and still hard as I turn to see the security guard standing in the doorway to the roof.
I tap my companion on the shoulder and she turns her head. She’s still leaning against the ledge, her arms fully outstretched.
“Wrigley!” the security guard shouts. “I told you to stop coming up here. You have any idea how many complaints we get when you pull this shit?”
I should probably feel more exposed or fearful, but I can’t help but laugh with the realization that the woman was calling out her own name from the top of a rooftop as she was having sex, basically in front of her neighbors.
This might just be true love.
Chapter Seven
Just Another Day at the Office
Leila
Thus far, I’ve managed to avoid Mr. Kidman, so today’s a good day.
Good might be a bit liberal a phrase, but it hasn’t been completely soul-crushing, so at least it’s a step in the right direction.
I’m having trouble concentrating, though. Annabeth is right: I do need someone in my life.
My last boyfriend, Chad—a jerk’s name if ever there was one—kind of did a number on me. Between his near-constant cheating and the way he would always find something wrong in anything I did, it’s been a bit difficult for me to find a measure of confidence in myself.
That’s why they do it.
That’s why men treat women like crap—it’s probably why women treat men like crap, too. It’s just a way to make the other person feel like less so that you can feel like more.
