says. “I’ll pick you up at noon and we’ll go shopping.”
Henry drives west to Cherrywood Mall, the only decent place to shop in this part of Michigan. So many stores have closed down since the recession. It seems like only the big chain stores have survived. I find it unsettling to be sitting in Henry’s brand new silver Camaro, running my hands along the smooth black leather interior, when on the wet road all around us are tall trees hiding homes that have foreclosed. Henry’s family has been lucky. The recession hasn’t hurt them significantly. It breaks my heart to see what has happened to so many people in Michigan.
Henry interrupts my thoughts about money to talk about just that. “Sydney, I am buying your clothes today.”
“No way!” I say loudly and firmly.
“This shopping spree is going to be my Christmas present to you. Don’t argue. I have plenty of money in my account, and if I didn’t, I’d sell my car to pay for your wardrobe,” Henry lets out a chuckle. “It’s time the world sees the sex goddess inside of you.”
I give Henry a little punch on his bicep. “You’re so hilarious,” I say, my voice oozing with sarcasm. I reach into my pocket and feel for my phone. It’s time to see if Professor Sparling has replied. I’d promised Henry I wouldn’t check for at least an hour after breakfast. “Self control is key, Sydney,” he’d said. It’s been 67 minutes. I pull out my phone and tap on my Gmail app.
“Sydney …” Henry admonishes.
“I said I’d wait an hour. It’s been more than that.” As I finish my sentence, P.Sparling’s message appears on my screen in bold type. “Whoohoo!” I shriek.
“I suppose that means you’ve gotten a reply,” Henry says flatly.
All I can say is holy shit . I can’t answer Henry because I’m too busy reading, and gasping with surprise.
Dear Sydney,
Would you be flattered to know I got hard as I read your email? I’m imagining your arousal and the way your body would begin its surrender into my arms. If you were here next to me in the clothing you described, I’d hold you close and give you a kiss that starts off gently like a caress, but gets more powerful as my tongue enters your mouth, moving in synch with yours like a dance. While kissing you I’d slowly pull the straps of your wife-beater down until your braless breasts were exposed, bare, and pressed against my chest. I’d start to kiss my way down your neck, one little kiss after another while my hands explored lower until they were cupping your gorgeous breasts.
Sydney, let’s talk in present tense, so it doesn’t feel like we’re pretending, but rather like you’re right here next to me and all of this is NOW. Your firm, round breasts are in my palms and I’m running my thumbs over your nipples. They harden at my touch. Your head tips back and you gasp and shiver with desire. When you pull your face back up to meet mine, your blonde hair falls over your shoulders until it almost touches your perfect breasts. I look into your eyes – so pale and blue – like a wolf’s. Oh, Sydney, baby, you are so beautiful. It’s time for me to kiss you again, but first I want you to want me more. Tell me how much you want me.
Wishful,
Paul
“You’re panting,” Henry snaps at me. “I can’t believe an email makes you pant.” Now he’s giving me that wry grin of his. “Is little Miss Sydney getting all hot in my Camaro?”
“Shush,” Henry! “Yes, I’m hot for Professor Sparling. You already know that.”
I have so many questions about Professor Sparling. Aside from what he wrote in his book about his painful divorce, I know nothing about him. His ex-wife Madeline suffered from severe depression, and much of what he wrote about in his memoir were his conflicted feelings of wanting both to save her and to leave her. Does he think I’m someone who needs saving, too? Was that his takeaway from my essay? I surely do not want to be viewed as some damsel in
Henry drives west to Cherrywood Mall, the only decent place to shop in this part of Michigan. So many stores have closed down since the recession. It seems like only the big chain stores have survived. I find it unsettling to be sitting in Henry’s brand new silver Camaro, running my hands along the smooth black leather interior, when on the wet road all around us are tall trees hiding homes that have foreclosed. Henry’s family has been lucky. The recession hasn’t hurt them significantly. It breaks my heart to see what has happened to so many people in Michigan.
Henry interrupts my thoughts about money to talk about just that. “Sydney, I am buying your clothes today.”
“No way!” I say loudly and firmly.
“This shopping spree is going to be my Christmas present to you. Don’t argue. I have plenty of money in my account, and if I didn’t, I’d sell my car to pay for your wardrobe,” Henry lets out a chuckle. “It’s time the world sees the sex goddess inside of you.”
I give Henry a little punch on his bicep. “You’re so hilarious,” I say, my voice oozing with sarcasm. I reach into my pocket and feel for my phone. It’s time to see if Professor Sparling has replied. I’d promised Henry I wouldn’t check for at least an hour after breakfast. “Self control is key, Sydney,” he’d said. It’s been 67 minutes. I pull out my phone and tap on my Gmail app.
“Sydney …” Henry admonishes.
“I said I’d wait an hour. It’s been more than that.” As I finish my sentence, P.Sparling’s message appears on my screen in bold type. “Whoohoo!” I shriek.
“I suppose that means you’ve gotten a reply,” Henry says flatly.
All I can say is holy shit . I can’t answer Henry because I’m too busy reading, and gasping with surprise.
Dear Sydney,
Would you be flattered to know I got hard as I read your email? I’m imagining your arousal and the way your body would begin its surrender into my arms. If you were here next to me in the clothing you described, I’d hold you close and give you a kiss that starts off gently like a caress, but gets more powerful as my tongue enters your mouth, moving in synch with yours like a dance. While kissing you I’d slowly pull the straps of your wife-beater down until your braless breasts were exposed, bare, and pressed against my chest. I’d start to kiss my way down your neck, one little kiss after another while my hands explored lower until they were cupping your gorgeous breasts.
Sydney, let’s talk in present tense, so it doesn’t feel like we’re pretending, but rather like you’re right here next to me and all of this is NOW. Your firm, round breasts are in my palms and I’m running my thumbs over your nipples. They harden at my touch. Your head tips back and you gasp and shiver with desire. When you pull your face back up to meet mine, your blonde hair falls over your shoulders until it almost touches your perfect breasts. I look into your eyes – so pale and blue – like a wolf’s. Oh, Sydney, baby, you are so beautiful. It’s time for me to kiss you again, but first I want you to want me more. Tell me how much you want me.
Wishful,
Paul
“You’re panting,” Henry snaps at me. “I can’t believe an email makes you pant.” Now he’s giving me that wry grin of his. “Is little Miss Sydney getting all hot in my Camaro?”
“Shush,” Henry! “Yes, I’m hot for Professor Sparling. You already know that.”
I have so many questions about Professor Sparling. Aside from what he wrote in his book about his painful divorce, I know nothing about him. His ex-wife Madeline suffered from severe depression, and much of what he wrote about in his memoir were his conflicted feelings of wanting both to save her and to leave her. Does he think I’m someone who needs saving, too? Was that his takeaway from my essay? I surely do not want to be viewed as some damsel in
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