Part 1: Won't You Stay for Breakfast?
My big teddy bear, Trevor, knew what was good for him and so he stuck around until the morning, even though his feet hung off the end of my double bed.
“Good morning,” I said as he nudged my butt cheeks with his erection.
He grabbed me tight from behind, spooning me while also, um, trying to fork me through my panties.
I tried to pull away from him, but he growled in my ear and held me tighter.
Squealing, I said, “Coffee! Coffee first, then I'm all yours.”
He nuzzled my ear and neck from behind, his chin scratchy from a day's worth of beard growth.
Truth was, I had a bit of a sticky situation in my panties (only getting worse by the minute) and I wanted to freshen up in the shower. Guys always assume we're sweet and delicious and lovely, like fresh peaches down there, but it does take some effort!
I gently bit him on the arm until he yelped and released me. I scrambled out of the too-small bed and scampered to my bathroom.
I peered back over my shoulder at him, the big teddy bear in my bed.
Trevor was older than me, early thirties, and divorced. He claimed to have some baggage and a lack of desire to talk about it, but he seemed okay to me. He worked with my big sister, her boss at a real estate development company. Nikki set him up with me because she has an aversion to body hair, and Trevor had a gorgeous trail of curls leading from his neck to … all the good parts. It was hard to tear myself away from him, looking so awkward in my pink sheets, but I ran to the shower and tried to rush the job.
I was just climbing out when he came into the bathroom. “I put the coffee pot on,” he said, giving me a kiss. “Should be ready for you, and I'll be right out.”
I gave him another kiss, and a hug, and let him take over the shower.
Out in my bedroom, I threw on a robe and looked for something clean and comfy for Trevor to borrow, but who was I kidding? A petite girl like me wouldn't have anything for him to wear. I straightened up the bed and smoothed out his clothes from the night before.
Following the delicious scent of brewing coffee, I made my way to the kitchen. My parents were away, at our cabin by the lake, and I felt like such a bad girl, having a man sleep over. Bad in a good way.
I immediately called my sister, Nikki. I brought her up to speed on the awkward date Trevor and I went on the previous night. I'd sorta forced him to take me to a movie, and then after, he'd confessed that not only did I look just a little bit like his ex-wife (and by a little bit, I mean a lot), but that he wasn't a big fan of talking about his feelings.
Nikki snorted into the phone from her side. “Men love to talk about their feelings. The problem is, they only have two, and they're hungry or angry.”
“Or the third,” I said.
“Oh, right, horny.”
“Hah! No, I meant hangry. That combo, where you get mad because you're low blood sugar. Like how Dad gets if dinner's late.”
Nikki laughed at this (it was funny because it was true), then said, “Listen, Naomi, I know you haven't dated a divorced guy before—”
“Neither have you!”
“Let me finish,” she said, sounding exasperated. I could picture her making one of our mother's facial expressions, which made me want to strangle her through the phone. “People going through a divorce have a lot of stuff going on. They're in transition.”
I tapped my fingers on the sunny breakfast nook table, frustrated by her beating around the bush. “Nikki, try. Try to make a point.”
“This is a transitional relationship,” she said.
“You mean like a rebound thing?”
“Yes.”
“So?” I said sullenly.
“It's a good transition for you, too,” she said. “Have your fun, but don't get too attached.”
My mind raced ahead, putting together words and ideas. “Nikki, did you intentionally set us up so that I could be his rebound girl?”
Silence.
“Nikki?”
“What? Sorry, my cell phone just cut out. What are you trying to say?”
“Do you really want Trevor for yourself? Did you set him up with me to get his rebound over so you could get your paws on him?”
“Of course not! I'm offended you would even think that,” she said.
I shrank down in my chair, feeling very small and foolish. “Uh, sorry. I just … I have all these weird feelings.”
“Promise me you'll take it easy,” she said, sounding once more like my sweet, supportive big sister.
I felt like a total ass**le for being suspicious of her. “The horses are already out of the barn.”
“Hmm,” she said. “Farming metaphors. This is not good.”
“Transitional is good,” I said. “Do you know how many times he transitioned me last night?”
“Naomi, he's my boss. I have to look him in the face at work, you know, so please don't tell me anything too detailed.”
“Okay.”
There was a pause, then finally she said, “Okay how many times?”
“Three times.”
“That's a lot.”
“I know. It was so good. I think I want it three times a night now.”
She squealed then sighed. “Ugh, I need a boyfriend. You have to set me up.”
“All my friends are g*y.”
“Well, keep your eyes open,” she said.
My sister and I finished our phone call just in time. Trevor came out of the hallway, looking clean and scrumptious, albeit a little rumply in the previous day's clothes. Those eyes took my breath away, orange-brown and flecked with black and gold. When he talked to me, his pupils were dilated, big and dark with interest for me. His desire made me crazy for him. Even though he wasn't model-skinny, he was such a handsome man, with thick, dark, wavy hair, and such a nice jaw line and chin with the cutest cleft right in the middle.
“The walk of shame,” he said, rubbing at the wrinkles on his shirt with both hands.
Over the top of my coffee mug, I said, “I can run an iron over that for you.”
He shrugged away the offer and said, “I earned my walk of shame.”
I thought of the previous night, of him tirelessly taking me to orgasm after orgasm. “You sure did.”
I was sitting on one the wooden chairs in the kitchen's breakfast nook, overlooking the backyard, and he joined me with his own freshly-poured coffee. Unlike me, with all my milk, he took his black, which didn't surprise me. He was a manly man, after all.
We exchanged flirty looks and pleasantries about the variety of products and conditioners in my bathroom, and then, he patted his lap and said, “C'mere.”