He putters with no particular deadline, but Sir is not your average, garden variety putterer. He is a journeyman carpenter and craftsman. He has, thus far in his short stay not only repaired, refastened, hauled out, lubricated, and painted this-and-that, he has reorganized the garage, rebuilt a rocking chair, restored an antique bookcase, and custom designed and built a new bookcase for the corner of her living room. But doing odd jobs is not what brings him to the quaint seaside cottage. What has drawn him here is his Little One.
They had met online which is not all that unusual. That it was at an adult site meant that they were mutually interested in sex play and, like most people at such venues, they played anonymously. An innocuous, even if titillating pastime for grownups, neither one had any intention of ever meeting the other. For one thing, he thought they lived too far apart. He also figured a straight-laced, church-going, New England school teacher would never agree to meet some oversexed guy with an alias she met online at a porn site anyway. However, they could flirt like mad, volley erotic innuendo, and make overtly sexual posts that fed their libidos as they dallied in the threads without any reservation, forever.
So much for forever. Come to find out it was not ME on her location but MA, which made her close enough for them to meet, and she turned out to be a bit less straight-laced than the Puritan-teacher stereotype he had going on in his head. Who would have guessed that she would come to agree to meet him? Certainly, it was not him, and most definitely, not her.
It was decided they would rendezvous in a very public parking lot outside a well-known museum and from there they would go out to breakfast. And if all went well, they would get further acquainted touring the museum then part company.
Sir, a man experienced in the art of seducing a woman, was positive if he could get her to agree to meet him, and he could kiss her just once, that they would ultimately have sex that very day.
She knew if when he stepped out of his car he creeped her out in any way, they would be taking separate cars to breakfast and would likely not make it past coffee if she hadn't lost him in traffic before that. She fretted the entire way there, becoming more convinced with each passing mile that he was, likely, a serial killer; and she would be found some days hence naked, mutilated, and rotting in a nearby dumpster. She considered chickening out but shrugged off her nervousness and kept going.
Taking less time than expected in the morning rush hour, she arrives first. She frets a bit more and moves her car around trying out several spaces in the nearly empty parking lot.
"Okay," she thinks, "this is by nearest foot traffic and with a view of all the entrances and exits. What kind of car did he have? Shoot! She hadn't asked. What a nitwit. I must have been right out of my mind!"
But sitting in the lot in the morning sun of what was going to become a beautiful spring day calmed her. "Girl, you have obviously watched just one too many episodes of Criminal Minds. Get - a - grip!"
Not long after, Sir arrives in, what else, but the serial killer's vehicle of choice...an SUV. She wasn't sure how she knew it was him, but he seemed to know it was her, and he parked a space or two to the left and behind her.
Fleetingly, a 'yup, I'm doomed' flashed across her mind, but it is followed just as quickly by an, 'oh, grow the frick up!' and she gets out of her car to greet him.
She watches him step out of his Ford Explorer and inwardly gasps, "Oh my god, I have won the good-lookin' guy lottery!"
Handsome, he had a genuine smile that lit up his face. He appeared to be a man comfortable in his own skin and with his masculinity, and his calm engendered confidence. Six-foot-two, he stood in front of her, hands on hips, tilting his head in a way that, curiously enough, made her think of John Wayne.
What had she worried about? She was no kid, and she was a reasonably good judge of character. Besides -- who could fear John Wayne? Everything was going to be just fine.
He had asked her on the phone before they met if she would let him decide the timing of the first kiss to which she agreed; and so he was; and so he did. Right there in the parking lot before breakfast, he kissed her. And truth be known...the museum, two years later, is yet to be toured.
"On the bed, now!" he commands snapping his fingers, pointing in a sweeping gesture towards the queen four-poster bed.
Naked, she moves swiftly to obey, lying on the bed face up. Hands, palm up, rest on either side of her head, and he surveys her. He smiles appreciatively. Supple and naked, her soft, curly brown hair gently frames her face on the pillow. His Little One's legs spread apart quite naturally. She is so ready for him to come to her; to be inside her.
