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I grinned at my phone, finally looking forward to my stint in the country.
7
STACEY
Ballydoon Community Group:
Maureen posted 5.03 p.m.:
The Ballydoon Ladies Auxiliary’s Bake Sale is on Sunday at 10 a.m., in the hall. Arts and crafts, cakes and biscuits, plus tea and coffee with scones. Fundraising for a new truck for the fire brigade.
Ash commented: I’ll donate a hummingbird cake
Liz commented: What about Scottish oat cakes?
Mayka commented: How about lamingtons? Would you like some?
The knocking noise coming from my engine hadn’t been there two weeks ago when I’d left my car at Sam’s. I accelerated along Turner’s Creek Road, choosing to ignore it.
Note to brain: talk to Ryan about engine.
Cars, Harrison, no panties… Thank god I’d stayed with Sam last night. I couldn’t face seeing my family right after a one-night stand, especiallysans underwear.
I’d told Sam about my course results, as well as my two orgasms in a vintage Mustang and we’d celebrated with large fries on our way to Ballydoon. Sam then shared her new business idea to complement her wildlife photography and contract work with the local newspaper: boudoir shoots.
“Bood-wahhhh,” I said out loud, giggling.
Sam was convinced lots of women wanted boudoir photos as a treat for themselves or a surprise for their partners. She reckoned a boudoir shoot was about feeling sexy and beautiful.
I turned on the radio for the news headlines, rolling my aching shoulders. Sam made it sound easy to just start a new business idea. As simple as moving furniture into her spare bedroom to set up the boudoir.
In reality, I knew I needed a website and business cards and … as to the rest, I was paralysed with indecision of what to do next. Sam promised me she’d help with getting me online and launched and I felt somewhat reassured.
“That’s the news for this hour. Now Granite FM is rocking out in 1971 with Marc Bolan and T-Rex with their smash hit from their Electric Warrior album. Can you guess the track? Well, here it is: ‘Get It On, Bang a Gong’ …”
This song had played on Harrison’s car stereo last night. My mind filled with a montage of memories: a glimpse of his abs when I’d pulled up his tee-shirt; defined and sculptured with a trail of hair that went lower. How his cock had felt when I’d stroked him, how he had thickened under my touch.
I wonder what he’d taste like in my mouth.
“Holy shit!” I pulled hard on the steering wheel to avoid veering into the ditch on the side of the road.Keep your mind out of the gutter so your car stays on the road!
Exhaling slowly, I accelerated towards home, the knocking sound getting louder again, when a thought shook me:I wanted him again.
I clenched my thighs. I was a little sore from last night and had light bruises on my hips. A pulse of heat spread through my core as I recalled how he’d entered me, filling me up.
I wantedto have sexagain, not necessarily with him again.
Not like that could happen anyway. He was gone, somewhere.
“Horny and almost home,” I said out the car window to the sheep in the paddock.
I just had to figure out how to have a normal sex life in Ballydoon, population 958. Beside guys like Benji and Phil, most men were married, in a relationship, or simply too young or old.
My best chance of having sex again was moving away. Not an option. As much as this place irritated me at times, I loved Ballydoon, and home. I couldn’t imagine not being here.
Trying to find someone to date in Stanmore or Ballydoon was not an impossibility but most guys my age knew me from high school, or they knew of me and what happened in the fire ten years ago.
Number one rule: I was no one’s pity date.
