This was one of those rare days where I had to bring my workload home which got in the way of the family activities I had in mind.
I sighed and leaned on my seat. What a bummer! Right now, I'm revising several pieces of paperwork from scratch I made earlier in the day while Gramps and Grandmama spent two days in Miami, and I was left to be their house's miserable caretaker.
Truth is, this wasn't so bad. Except that I was left here alone with my undrafted research paper that was due three weeks from now.
Instead of celebrating this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to spend time with my grandparents, I, Willow Johnson, a twenty-three-year-old psychology student majoring in behavioral psychology, was sulking in my room. Fun fact: I'm in the process of writing a research paper about love and sex--and the behavioral patterns we exhibit because of them--despite being a complete virgin.
At first, I didn't think it would be a problem. But oh boy, was I wrong. Just writing the introduction had me gagging--begging the gods to let the words flow. But that's not how it works, especially when you have zero experience, no matter how much research you've done watching porn. I had no clue what an orgasm actually felt like, and I sure as hell had never experienced having a cock shoved into this dry, worthless, tiny hole below the pits of hell.
It was upsetting and somewhat self-deprecating to realize that someone didn't desire you the way you wanted to be desired. But after a while, you just learned to go with the flow, letting fate--or whoever the hell was in charge--decide where you ended up.
And honestly, it wasn't hard to see why I didn't exactly scream desirable. A short bob with thin bangs, oversized square glasses, and a baggy sweatshirt I wore like armor to hide my scrawny frame. I hated the way people stared, their eyes flickering with silent judgment as if trying to decide whether I was homeless or just battling some kind of eating disorder. Well, screw them! The truth is, I was only insecure about how skinny I was no matter how much I ate. The small titties were minus points to my already lacking assets. But that wasn't all that was missing. I was also lacking--like I've said before--experience--with men, in particular.
I sighed in frustration, shoving my laptop back into its sleeve before flopping onto my bed. My eyes drifted to the clock above me--6 o'clock in the evening, and I had nothing left to do but sulk.
I'd wasted most of my day obsessing over how to gather samples on climaxing and its supposed benefits for building, allegedly, stronger connections with a sexual partner. And yet, here I was, stuck at a dead end, unable to write a single word. I hadn't even gathered enough data, mostly because I lacked the motivation to start.
My eyes focused on the ceiling above. I've been doing this for the last year and a half, but still, no progress! I needed a solution, and fast. I couldn't spend another semester doing the same thing over and over again.
"What the hell do I even do? Masturbation? Penetrative sex? God, I should've chosen a different topic if it was going to make me lay in bed all day and watch porn for reference!"
I turned onto my side and let out a heavy sigh, completely giving up. If only there were some way to put an end to this frustrating drought.
My thoughts came to an abrupt halt.
Maybe I could find a man--someone willing to help me experience all these things firsthand--
Wait a minute. Hold your horses!
It wasn't like I could just walk up to a random guy and ask him to give me a crash course in pleasure. And let's be real--my "first time" wasn't going to come knocking at my doorstep anytime soon. If I wanted answers, I'd have to figure things out myself.
All of a sudden, the doorbell rang, breaking my chain of thoughts. I grabbed my sweater and hurried downstairs. Are my grandparents here finally?
My eyes almost popped out of their sockets when I beheld the person standing before me. That's definitely not Gramps.
"Good evening, ma'am," a deep, husky voice greeted. "I'm assuming you're Mr. and Mrs. Johnson's granddaughter. The old man asked me to check out his refrigerator and see if I could do anything about it." He gestured toward the house before his gaze went back to me.
Sweatshirt plus sweater. Socks. Unruly bob-cut hair.
I probably was the latest definition of terrible he had ever seen. Besides that, I tried to open my mouth to respond, but no words came out.
The man standing before me was drop-dead gorgeous--towering at 6 feet, broad-shouldered, the very definition of an Alpha Male. His dark brown eyes locked onto mine, intense and unwavering, as if he could see right through me.
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry as I took in the sharp angles of his jaw and that easy flannel I could grip and rip anytime soon. It felt like heaven when I noticed the way his fitted shirt clung to his muscular arms. There was something rugged yet effortlessly confident about him--like he belonged on the cover of a magazine, not standing on my grandparents' dirty front porch. Believe me when I say that his entire package had totally made my mouth water in the literal sense.
Heat crept up my neck at my absurd thoughts and a strange, tingling sensation I hadn't experienced before coursed through my body.
"Yes," I finally managed to squeak. "Yes, I am the, uh, granddaughter."
This man was huge. He had to be at least a foot taller than me, and if I stood beside him, I was sure he'd easily hit the six-foot mark. Broad shoulders, strong arms--it was impossible not to notice just how well-built he was.
And if he was that big everywhere else...
I swallowed hard as heat rushed to my cheeks. My mind had no business wandering there, but it did anyway.
Get a grip, Willow. Seriously? Are you really that thirsty? I scolded myself.
I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of it. But now that I thought about it, psychology did say the body sometimes reacted before the brain could catch up.
If that was true... yeah, my body was definitely ahead of me on this one.
Clearing my throat, I forced myself to focus. "Hold on a sec. I'll confirm this with Gramps."
Stranger danger. It's the number one rule when you're home alone. But what about if Stranger Danger was a hottie? Does that spice things up a little bit?
I shut the door--maybe a little too quickly--before he could even respond. I had already violated that man in my mind far too much, and at this point, repentance felt like my only option.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled out my phone, ready to call my grandfather and double-check this whole situation. But before I could even dial, his name lit up my screen.
"Hey, Gramps," I answered, trying to sound normal about everything that ran through my mind a while ago. "Is there something wrong with the fridge?"
What I meant is, when did you have such a hot repairman at your beck and call?!
"That's exactly why I called!" he replied too cheerfully. "Colt will be there in a few, honey."
I stiffened.
So, his name was Colt...
"Well, he's already here, I think."
"Why do you sound so unsure?" Gramps asked while I heard Grandmama's suspicious sigh.
"Hand me the phone over, Elmer--ah, Willow, honey? Is that repairman there?"
"Yes, Grandmama. That's what I told--"
"But you sounded unsure, honey. Now, tell me what he looks like!"
Hot. A walking god. He's everything.
I cleared my throat. "Uh, he's--he's tall. Has blonde hair."
I heard my Grandmama squeal while Gramps groaned. "That's him! The handsome lad!"
"Okay, that's enough squealing for the day!" Gramps' voice came through the phone, cutting off Grandmama's excited chatter in the background. I could practically hear her pouting.
"She's worried the fridge won't stop making those weird robotic noises whenever the temperature drops," he explained. "Keeps saying something might blow up while we're fast asleep."
