I was all worked up.
I was high and mighty.
Feeling powerful, I punched in the number for my sister's office, and when the receptionist picked up, I said, “Naomi calling for Trevor MacIntyre.”
“Is he expecting your call?”
“Yes,” I said, without hesitating. (Answering yes to that question was a reflex by now.)
He said, “Trevor here.” He sounded so gruff, so business-like, that I lost all my cool and hung up.
Yup, I hung up.
Then I stared at my phone and said, “Oh shit, oh shit.”
It started to ring. “Shit!” I jumped up from my desk.
One of my coworkers, Chad, walked by and said, “Loving the new hair, Naomi. Is there something wrong with your phone?”
“Chad, do you f**k on the first date?”
He shrugged and said, “If both parties are willing, then HELL yes.”
“And do you go on a lot of second dates?”
He looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully, then he just walked away without answering.
I picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“It's you,” he said.
“Hi Trevor. So nice of you to call.”
There was a pause, and then he let out a low chuckle. “I guess it was about time I called, wasn't it?”
“Mm hmm.” I used one of my collection call tactics, which was to not say much. This worked well for a first collection call, especially if the other person had a guilty conscience. The less you say, the more likely they're going to confess all.
“That movie's still playing,” he said. “I really wanted to see it.”
“We could go Friday.”
Another pause.
He voice rose a little, sounding constricted, and he said, “I guess I could swing by your house and pick you up half past seven? There's an eight o'clock showing.”
No dinner. Hmm. I didn't say anything.
“Naomi?”
“Sure. Friday. Half past seven.”
“Listen, Naomi, I … uh ...”
“I'm at work,” I said. My coworker Chad had returned to my desk with a coffee for me. Loud and business-like, I said into the phone, “Well, I should let you go. Thanks for that. Talk to you soon,” and I hung up.
Chad raised one eyebrow. “Second date?”
I accepted the coffee and invited Chad all the way into my cubicle. In a hushed voice, I told him everything that had happened between me and Trevor. Chad was g*y, but he was a man, so I hoped he'd have some insight.
When I finished, he said, “Tell me more about his hairiness. Like, when he had his pants off, did it look like he was still wearing pants? Furry pants?”
I smacked Chad on the elbow. “No!” He grinned at me. I said, “Okay, maybe a little.”
“You're a bear lover.”
“He was very cuddly.”
“Do you like him?”
“I hardly know him. But … yeah. I like him. He's an adult, you know?”
“Ooh, he's a Daddy.”
I pushed Chad back. He was squatting, to be eye-level with me on my chair, and he tipped back onto his butt, laughing uproariously.
“Don't be lewd!” I said, laughing. “He's not a Daddy or a bear, he's just a person. Don't sexualize and objectify him like that.”
He got up and dusted himself off. “Whatever he is, take lots of mental pictures on your second—” he made air quotes “—date!”
“And tell you all about it? Like tell you about his enormous … shoes?”
Chad got all serious and said, “Maybe I should call someone I know for a second date.”
Despite having my doubts about how Trevor was feeling, I got caught up in Chad's effervescence and said, “I'm seeing him Friday. You could line up a date as well, and on Monday we'll take an extra-long coffee break to discuss.”
Chad seemed to ponder this. He already had his phone out as he walked away from my desk.
I turned back to my pile of paperwork and my full email inbox and tried to remember why I was there. I had work to do, but all I wanted to do was re-play my date with Trevor and imagine the possibilities of our next one.
When he'd climbed in over me, inside his truck, I never knew I could feel so aroused. Yeah, I get horny from time to time, but I'd never dated someone who turned me on like Trevor. I'd never been with someone so manly. And it wasn't just the body hair or his large stature or deep voice, but he just exuded this sense of … strength. I'm strong too (for my size), and willful, but his strength came with a different energy. He really was like a bear, wasn't he?
For the first time, I totally understood why some g*y guys like bears. Bears are big, and there's lots to hang onto and climb on, and they're just so …
I had to stop thinking about it.
My labia were all swollen with excitement and sweating with feminine moisture. Everything was slippery, and I couldn't take my mind off Trevor, nude, in the tub and in his bed and even in his vehicle. Oh, that big, yummy c**k of his. I wanted to lick it, put it in my vag, then lick it some more. I wanted to put a collar on it (I saw one on a leash in an art photo a while back and it's stuck in my brain) and keep it as a pet.
* * *
Friday rolled around. Aunt Flo was gone, and I was so nervous about seeing Trevor that I barely slept Thursday night.
I took two hours to get ready, shaving, tweezing, buffing—the whole deal. I gave myself a manicure and a pedicure. I powdered everything and wore new underwear, bought special for the date.
Summer had definitely ended, and it was sweater season, but I wanted to show some skin. I settled for some cords and a lacy tank top with a built-in bra and slender straps, underneath a light-weight cardigan.
Dad, who was drinking an after-dinner coffee at the counter in the kitchen, whistled appreciatively for me, and my mother paced around the sink and stove area, twisting her hands and fidgeting with a tea towel.
I told her, “Stop planning the wedding. I know you like Trevor, but this is just our second date.”
“Spring weddings are nice,” she said. “You beat the rush. People are so busy in the summer.”
I got a glass and had some water, trying to act casual, but feeling like a nervous mess inside. I wished I had the confidence my mother did, that this guy was the one and I was simply reeling him in. I was in no way ready to get married, but Trevor was clearly not afraid of commitment, having already been married. Then again, maybe he'd be more scared off of such things, with the divorce and all. Doubt crept in and made me sweat.
“Shouldn't you guys be heading to the lake?” I asked.