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It’s like she’s masking hidden depths inside herself the same way I am. Like there are whole worlds in her she doesn’t want the outside world to see, the same way I’ve kept this newfound and confusing loneliness secret from everyone.
But surely that’s insane.
All I have is her picture and a list of fitness related questions, telling me she’s not a fitness fanatic in the least.
So all I have, really, is a photo of a stranger and a testament that she doesn’t enjoy the same hobbies I do.
Surely that should make this feeling impossible, this iron grip on my chest, on my whole being, squeezing tighter and tighter each moment I gaze at her.
I turn back to the phone, resting on the table, open on that picture of her. My cock is rock hard, pressing like it’s angry against the inside of my pants, pushing firmly as though trying to break free.
It’s the curvy shape of her, the way her breasts press against the hoodie, the way her hips shape those leggings. The photo is taken up against a wall, and my woman has a slightly startled look, as though she’s doing this all for a big joke, with no thought to actually winning.
I’ve never had a type of woman, as some men do because no woman has ever inspired this swirling hungry need inside of me before. But if I did have a type, it would be for a twenty year old curvy woman named Rosie Williams, with soulful blue eyes and a body that makes my balls pulse and my manhood ache.
I want to reach into the picture and grind my hand up those thick gorgeous thighs, slide my hand up and down her sex, over her lips and her clit, as she shifts against me.
I imagine her moaning, quiet at first, but then louder as she throws hers into the pleasure, as she finds it impossible to—
Suddenly the picture is gone, replaced with a call icon and the word Mom.
Damn, that really killed my mood.
Maybe it’s for the best. Anything to stop me from sinking into these fantasies, completely losing myself in impossible visions of lust.
What would this twenty year old woman say if I told her all this madness? If I outlined my claim on her?
And what would I do if she said no?
I don’t have the answers to these questions, and that causes a note of wariness, a hissing warning to be careful during our session tomorrow.
Zzz-zzz.
My phone vibrates against the glass table insistently, pulling me back to the present moment.
“Hey,” I say, answering.
“Afternoon,” Dad says, his usual joke when he calls me during the evening.
My old man has a gravelly confident voice, conjuring up countless childhood memories of when he would tell me to try, try again, and try over and over until I conquered whatever task was ahead of me.
“Yahoo,” Mom calls, in her fun-loving voice, one that always causes a flutter of happiness in my chest.
“Evening, actually,” I say, and dad laughs like he always does. “How’re you two doing?”
“We were just having a very interesting conversation,” Mom says. “One of our friends here, Martha… Do you remember Martha?”
“You go swimming with her sometimes, right?”
“That’s right,” Mom says. “Well, she has a daughter and…”
“Mom,” I groan when I realize the path this conversation is barreling down. “You know I love you. I love you both. But how many times—”
“I know,” she interrupts briskly. “You don’t want us to set you up with anyone. You’ve made that very clear. But, dear…”
Mom trails off, causing a pit to open up in my stomach, gnawing and bitter. Of course, mom wants to meet her grandkids before she gets too old before the unthinkable happens. Of course, I’ve probably made her wait too long as it is.
But what does she want from me, to meet some stranger, some woman who makes me feel nothing, and have babies with her for the sake of it?
“What your mother is trying to say,” Dad picks up, “is we want you to be happy, Ryker. That’s all.”
I sigh. “I know, Dad. I know. And I want the same for both of you. But I’ve just never found anyone who interests me.”
“Find someone who excites you then.” Dad chuckles. “Find someone you’re passionate about. We can’t stand the thought of you spending the rest of your life alone.”
Normally I would laugh this off. Mom and dad are often calling with potential partners from one of their friends.
But there’s something about today, from the exchange with the woman in the gym, from running into Zane, and then laying eyes on Rosie’s picture – a picture that will stay with me in vivid detail for the rest of my life – that makes me feel their pain more than usual.
Perhaps because part of it has always been my pain.
