Soft-Mouthed Sandy

The next morning I awoke just after 7 a.m. feeling only slightly hungover. I rolled out of bed and into my closet bathroom, still a bit dazed. I flipped on the light over the medicine cabinet and took in my face. There was no doubt in my mind that the events of the earlier evening had occurred.

I took careful stock.

"You alright, Boy-o?" a voice at the back of my mind asked.

It was an older voice, one I always imagined as my conscience. It often spoke to me on the mornings after I had had a little too much to drink and gotten just a bit wilder than usual.

I decided, looking into my grey-green eyes, that I was fine. Better than fine. I flipped on the shower and kicked out of my pajama bottoms, testing the heat of the water and contemplating my dick.

"You certainly enjoyed yourself," I said, noticing I was dealing with another mildly impressive morning erection.

I stepped into the stream, closing the pebbled glass door behind me. I grabbed my body wash and poured a liberal amount into the palm of my hand, beginning to rub it into my dark brown chest hair. The heat and steam quickly fogged the glass, and I was suddenly contemplating the morning.

In one hour, I was going to see him again. In one hour...

I felt my dick harden even more.

"Down boy," my mature conscience said.

I smirked. "Maybe play it cool," I considered.

I soaped, I rinsed. I shampooed and conditioned. I pulled out my shaving mirror and my razor and went to work on my morning stubble.

"If I'm hungover," I thought. "He's probably worse."

As I shaved, my cock kept itself at full attention. I ignored it. I tried willing it down. "No," I said. "You had enough fun last night."

It did not seem to see my point. My cock wanted more. It seemed to be angrily anticipating more. I tried to focus on my shaving and forced myself to think about something other than that hungry mouth draining my balls of cum with greedy abandon.

"Breakfast, I thought. "Dude lent me his car. I made sure I got home. Least I can offer him for being neighborly."

So neighborly, my cock seemed to croon.

I finished and shut off the water. Stepping out, I toweled dry and went to my closet.

The night before, I had not been dressed for anything hot and heavy. I'd been in an old baseball shirt and cargo shorts. I looked at the crumpled clothes on the floor and shook my head, knowing they were functional and not sexy.

I flung open the closet door and went to the top drawer.

I keep two drawers for underwear and socks. I have "every day" Hanes boxer-briefs in the second drawer. But since my first semester in college and growing more "sexually active," I had accumulated a collection of "heavy date" Jockmail briefs on top. Nancy was particularly fond of the more vibrant colors, so I took a note from her book and selected a pair of light blue ultra-thin briefs that she had often complimented.

I slipped them on, stuffing my angry hard-on sideways with a grunt. Next, I got my best pair of dark denim Ariat jeans. (I am from a small rural town originally, I tend to fall back on tight boot-cut jeans with heavy leather belts and a modest but still country style belt buckle with matching boots for when I have to go out with Nan to the clubs). Pulling those on, I went with another baseball shirt -- 1890s Boston Beaneaters (also light blue).

I did a quick finger-comb of my hair in the hall mirror. "You're stopping for breakfast. Returning the car. Nothing special, right?"

The conscience kicked up. "Whatever you say, boy-o."

I sighed at myself, feeling ridiculous. Had I primped this much for Nancy when we'd started dating?

I grabbed the keys to Sandy's Pontiac Solstice off my kitchen counter and breezed out the door.

I'd done a decent job of parking the little two-seater in front of my dingy small apartment building. The night before, I had simply used it as a means of conveyance, but now I admired it, walking around it, noting the vanity license plate that read "Sandman." I shook my head, climbed in the driver's seat, and undid the latches on the canopy.

I fed the key into the ignition and fired up the engine. I'm a bit of a car guy. I knew that what roared to life was a 6.0L LS2 V8. "Alright, Sandy," I smiled. "A man after my own heart."

I lowered the top just in time to notice one of my neighbors, a hipster art chick named Fiona, slowing down to take in the ride.

"New car?" she asked.

"Belongs to a friend," I said. "Need a lift? I'm grabbing breakfast before returning it this morning."

Fiona was in blue overalls with a green and white "where's waldo" style striped shirt. She wore cat-eye glasses and dark brown hair back from her face with a green ribbon that reminded me of that kid's movie Matilda. Clutched over her breasts were a medium-size sketch pad and a tin of charcoal pencils.

"I usually just walk," she said, demurely.

Now, Fiona had lived above me in my little dingy apartment complex for almost a year. During that time, I had been almost entirely faithful to Nancy. But even with her school-girl manner and her hipster way of dressing, she had full breasts and a comely figure. I'd caught myself staring at her more than a few times on summer days when she'd appear by the community pool in a form-fitting one-piece.

"Come on," I goaded. "A car like this needs a cute girl in the passenger seat, if only for a short drive."

Fiona coquettishly smiled and walked to the passenger door, opening it and sliding in beside me.

"Where you headed?"

"Same as you," she said. "Coffee. And then I was going to the Art Museum on campus."

I nodded, and once she'd buckled herself in, I put the little Solstice in gear and backed out of my parking space to rev the engine and shoot out of the parking lot in the direction of "Perks."

Every college town has a towny coffee shop where college kids congregate. Perks was only two blocks from my apartment and another block away from campus. It was only three minutes of driving, but I couldn't help but notice Fiona smiling as her right hand dipped out of the car to float on the breeze as we drove. I also got the distinct feeling we were both doing a brilliant job of not checking each other out on the drive.

I pulled into a slot and shut the engine off, climbing out quickly and rushing around to open Fiona's door for her.

"Nice ride," she said. "Still, I think your old Ford suits your personality a bit more."

I drive a blue 1995 F-150 flare-side, typically. A hand-me-down from my father, who had upgraded to Mini Cooper Sport after the divorce.

"You're saying I'm not the James Bond type?"

She accepted my hand as I pulled her up out of the low-sitting roadster.

"I'd have to see you in a tuxedo," she said. "You're more of a Drik Pitt, I'd imagine. Or Indiana Jones without the hat."

I nodded. "I'll take that as a compliment. Coffee's on me?"

Fiona nodded. "Flat white," she said. "Hot and sweet."

We walked to the door, and this time she moved to open it for me. "So you don't act the gentleman while staring at my butt," she laughed.

"Why Fi, here I thought I'd been subtle this whole time."

"Well, maybe you thought you were subtle. At any rate, turn about is fair play."

"And here I thought of you all along as a Sunday School Teacher type."

"Oh, I am," she smirked. "But only on Sundays from 11 to noon. I've got hours before I have to act like one."

We went inside, and I placed an order for her flat white and my usual (Shot in the Dark, pump of toffee nut). I then paused.... What for Sandy?

"Sir?" the barista prompted.

"I have a third order. Um, make it another shot in the dark, I guess? Um, can I get a jigger of cream and some sugar and sweetener packets?"

The barista smirked. "Don't know how she likes her coffee?"

I felt a bit of heat at the back of my neck and ears. "Something like that," I said. I added a few pastries and a couple of sausage rolls to the order and paid with my debit card.

I took the box of pastries and the two coffees in a carrier over to join Fiona at a table. She had her sketch pad open and was reviewing some of her previous drawings.

"You're good," I said, passing her coffee to her.

"They're studies," she said. "Van Gogh. Do you know Post-Impressionism?"

I shrugged. "I know Stary Night," I said. "But these have people in them."

"Not just people," she giggled. "That's Mary and Jesus just after being taken down from the cross. You don't know Van Gogh's Pieta?"

I shook my head. "I'm majoring in Journalism and Poly-Sci," I said. "But it's beautiful."

"These are just Charcoal studies. You should see the original. It's beautiful colors. And it's here in town! On loan to the college. It's a variation on a lithograph by Eugene Delacroix. Van Gogh painted it in 1889. It's on tour from the Vatican. It's only here for another week or so before heading back east to New York."

I nodded. "Maybe you could show it to me before it goes? Culture me up a bit?"

Fiona sipped her coffee and seemed to study me. "Only if I get you to sit for me in exchange?"

"Sit for you?" I asked. "Is this some sort of obedience training thing?"

She laughed. "No. I mean, for a sketch. You've got a nice face. I'd like to draw it sometime."

"You've got a nice face, too, Fiona," I said. "It's a deal." I extended my hand for a shake.

"And a date," she said, taking my hand and shaking it. Her palm was smooth as silk, with her fingers a bit rough with calluses from her drawing labors.

We dawdled a few minutes, talking about art. She mentioned a lot of names I confess to not knowing, but she was obviously very much in love with her field of study. Her eyes danced, and her hands fluttered. When we stood and walked out to get back into the car, I opened the door for her and let her slide in.

"Are you and Nancy..." She began; as I climbed into the driver's seat beside her.

"Are we... what?"

"I don't want to ask a guy out on a date if he belongs to some other girl," she said.

I paused, thinking about how best to answer that question without going into too much detail.

"Nancy has friends," I said. "We've never really discussed being exclusive. I know she's out with other people."

"And you're... not jealous?"

"No," I said. "But if it bothers you. We could just say we're friends hanging out. It doesn't have to go any further than that if it makes you uncomfortable."

Fiona leaned back in the passenger seat and seemed to chew a bit on her bottom lip. When she didn't seem like she was about to say anything more, I fired up the engine and drove her to campus. She climbed out of the passenger on her own at the entrance to the art museum.

"So, how's tomorrow?" she said. "Pick me up at four? We'll come here, and then afterward, we'll get dinner?"

I nodded. "Sounds good."

"It's a date, then," she smiled. "And after dinner, you'll sit for me."

"As you wish," I said with a nod. "See you, Fi."

"Later, Sean."

As she walked towards the art museum's large doors, I watched her hips swishing against her overalls.

"Down, Boy-o," my conscience grumbled.

"I'm only human," I said to myself.

After dropping Nancy at the Art Museum, it was just past 7:30. It was a warm spring morning, and I had 45 minutes to kill before I'd arranged to return Sandy's car to him. I decided to head out of town to Highway 7, knowing it would add a few minutes to the commute. Once on the highway, I punched the gas on the little roadster. I opened her up to 70 to a speed just north of 80 MPH.

Feeling the wind in my hair, I let my mind drift. For ten minutes, it was just me, a highway, the morning sun, and the promise of things to come.

I took the exit east of town and circled back to Nan and Sandy's apartment complex.

Now, I lived in the center of town. A poor farm boy, I rented on the cheap. A little one-bedroom with no frills. My apartment had a swimming pool but no gym. I exercised on campus at the student rec center. My apartment did not have washer/dryer hookups. A coin laundry room had eaten a big hole in my budget until Nan had coaxed her parents into getting her a luxury apartment with all the amenities.

Pulling through the automatic gate, I noticed my old beat-up Ford in the space I had left it. Next to it, to my surprise, was Nancy's little green Fiat. Pulling closer, I noticed one of the front tires was flat. I did some quick calculating and realized it would be interesting to explain pulling up in a car that didn't belong to me.

I could hear Nancy's questions already. "Isn't that my neighbor's car? He let you borrow it? How do you two know each other?"

I pulled around to the overflow lot behind the apartment complex and parked. I pocketed Sandy's keys and grabbed the bag of pastries and the coffee carrier, and strolled around the apartment building to the front.

I looked at the little Fiat with its flat tire. I looked at my old F-150. I looked up at the apartment where the guy I was not thinking about fucking lived, then I went to the ground floor apartment and rang the bell.

"Where the fuck have you been!?"

The door had opened to reveal Cassandra, or "Cass," as she liked to be called. She was in an oversized Sex-Pistols T-Shirt, and her bare legs shot out from underneath like two Mocha-colored tree trunks.

"I got locked out last night," I said. "Phone, keys, all inside this apartment with you, Cass."

Now, to say I didn't get along with my girlfriend's girlfriend would be a misnomer. Cass was kind and caring and was majoring in Early Childhood Development with plans to become a Social Worker and then a Psychologist. She was just not a morning person.

"We called and called," she said.

"I'm sorry, Cass, honey," I said. "I got locked out last night around 7 and had to walk home. I tried calling the super, but the office was closed and didn't open until 8."

"I see," Cass said, eyeing the coffees and the bag in my hands. "So, how did you know we'd be here?"

Did I mention Cassy was sharp?

"Oh, I... well, the upstairs neighbor let me use his phone to call a cab. I thought I'd bring him a coffee and, well, I don't live here. I figured some pastries might butter me up with the super enough to get him to unlock the apartment."

I know... I was impressed with coming up with all that on the spot. Luckily, Nancy appeared in the doorway just then and lunged into my arms.

"Oh, baby. I was so worried! When you didn't answer last night, and then we saw your truck here when we got back..."

"Just butterfingers," I said. "Got locked out when I finished with my laundry."

"I figured. I found your phone and your keys."

"Yeah," I said, returning her small pecking kisses. "Luckily, your neighbor was on his way out. He let me ditch my laptop and laundry upstairs and let me call a cab."

"Which neighbor?"

"The guy upstairs in 1211. Andy or Randy or something?"

"Sandy," she supplied. "How nice of him. Oh, goodies?"

I smiled, handing the box of pastries off to her. "They were for the super," I said. "But since we won't need to bother him, help yourself, ladies."

Nan whisked me inside as Cass closed the door behind us. "I'll go get dressed," she said.

Nan went to the coffee table and gathered up my phone and my truck keys. "We made it only about two hours out of town last night before we blew a tire," she said. "We tried calling you, but after three tries and it going to voicemail, Cass told me to call triple-A. We got a tow home and got in around midnight."

"Sorry, babe," I said. "They didn't put on a spare for you?"

"I didn't have one," she groaned. "Total nightmare. Cass has been in a mood all night."

I shrugged. "Well, at least the two of you got the car home safe and sound. I'm sorry you had to miss the weekend at the lake."

"The best-laid plans of Mice and Men," she said. (Nan was an English Lit Major.) She took the box to the kitchen and selected one of the blueberry scones. "Cass and I will just have to try it again some other weekend."

Cass reappeared in a pair of skinny jeans. The sex-pistols t-shirt had been replaced with a cream-colored peasant's blouse. "You said you left your laundry and laptop upstairs with the neighbor. Why not just take them with you in the cab?"

Damn. Was Cass training to be a social worker or a cop?

"Well, he was on his way out to a club," I supplied. "I felt kind of rushed. I called the cab. They were on the way. He had to leave. I figured I'd just leave the stuff at his place and circle back this morning. I mean, I figured he'd vouch for me with the super to get me in here, right?"

"I don't know," Nancy chimed. "If he was headed out to the clubs last night, he might have scored. After calling you three times, I tried texting him. He didn't respond until after three this morning. With Sandy, that means he wrangled himself a hot stud."

Oh, boy, boy-o.

"So he is gay," I said. "I kinda got that vibe off him."

"Uber-gay," Cass supplied, applying her lipstick in the hallway mirror. "In the forlorn "looking for real love" kind of brooding way."

"Cass, stop it. He's sweet. And he's like this wunderkind fil-director guy. Brooding goes with the territory if you ask me. Totally trope."

I was still holding a coffee carrier with a coffee. "So, maybe I shouldn't bother him about the laundry and the laptop if he's... erm... entertaining?"

Cass piped up. "Your boyfriend bought him a coffee."

"Again, I figured I owed him. It was nice of him to let me call that cab. But if he's with some guy...:

Nan giggled. "Oh, babe, you are so straight. Tell you what," she grabbed her cell off the counter. "I'll text him, see if the coast is clear?"

Before I could say anything, her fingers were flashing across her mobile. "Hey, Tiger. My boyfriend wants to bring you a coffee as a thank you for last night," she narrated. "You alone up there? Send!"

I glanced at the clock over the microwave in Nan's apartment. The time read precisely 8:15 on the dot. Now, I'm not sure exactly what a panic attack feels like, but I'm pretty sure I was on the brink of having one. A few moments passed. Then a few more. Then...

*CHIME*

"He says: "The coast is clear. Coffee sounds great! Glad you and Cass got home alright." Off you go, Sean! Hey, can we borrow your truck? The new tire for my car isn't due until after 11, and Cass wants to get back to her place."

"Oh, sure." I tossed Nan the truck keys. "I can catch the bus back."

"And I'll bring the truck back to your place tonight. Since I'm in town, want to order a pizza? Netflix and Chill?"

"Sure," I said. "It's a date, babe."

"Hey, if Sandy did score, there will be evidence. Let me know, huh? That guy could use a good lay."

"Uh..."

Cass chuckled. "Nothing like a Cis white dude being all awkward."

I chuckled too. "Yeah. Well..." I went to get the box of pastries. "You girl's done with them?"

They both nodded.

"Okay, well... maybe he and I will finish off the sausage rolls."

I saw Nan and Cass off in my truck, waving as they backed out and tore out of the parking lot with my old Ford V8 chugging along with impunity. Then, once they were out of sight, I turned to the steps leading up to 1211.

Oh boy, boy-o.

I took the steps one at a time, thinking with each step, "I could not have made a bigger ass off myself if I had planned it."

I came to the door. I exhaled a deep breath. I pressed my thumb to the buzzer.

The door opened. He was dressed in cargo shorts and a form-fitting undershirt. He wore a blue button-up that was unbuttoned over the tank-top. He took the coffee out of the holder and looked down to see that the coast was clear.

"What exactly does Nan think you are thanking me for?" He asked.

"For letting me call a cab before you left for the club last night," I said.

He nodded, taking a switch from the to-go cup. "Triple-shot?" he asked.