Commodities

National Nude Daisy: Part 1

NATIONAL NUDE DAISY: PART 1 A TIMID WAITRESS DARES TO BARE ALL ON NATIONAL NUDE DAY. BASED ON A POST BY CUPIDSTUNTDOTEXE [https://www.literotica.com/authors/CupidStuntDotEXE/works]. LISTEN TO THE ► PODCAST [https://archive.org/download/spring-erotic-stories/NationalNudeDaisy1.mp3] AT STEAMY STORIES [https://feeds.feedburner.com/steamy-stories]. [https://archive.org/download/spring-erotic-stories/NationalNudeDaisy1.jpg] DAISY: T MINUS 8 HOURS. I spray cleaner over the table and start wiping. My thin chiffon black shirt rides up, letting the cold metal kiss the strip of exposed skin. I gasp, and my stomach flinches away, but settles against the cool surface. My five-foot-nothing frame can barely reach into the corners, so I rise onto my toes and stretch, raising my hips above the table's edge, and almost folding myself in half. Perfect. Gives the people milling about behind me an exaggerated view of my lack-of-ass. I'm fucking 23 years old! Someone tell my ass that it's not on a teenager anymore. The last customer is dawdling on his way out, and Samantha's work smile twitches on her face as she inches the door closed on the unwanted conversation. I don't share her enthusiasm. Today went by in a flash, and tomorrow edges ever closer. It was written in my diary nearly a month ago. National Nude Day, starting at sunrise. The one day of the year public nudity is completely legal, instead of technically legal. What, in all the gods' names, did I agree to? "You're off tomorrow, right?" Sammie asks, placing a tray on the table next to mine. My breath stalls. "Yup," I say, trying to act casual. "Going to a festival in the city with my besties." I had the response rehearsed, so as not to reveal too much. An entertainment website mentioned at least 5 different festivals on the calendar, so I'm safe with that ambiguity. The real honest event that Sammie cannot be told; A fucking nudist festival I am so not ready for, and definitely not ready for any of my workplace colleagues to know. Can you imagine if they found out? Gods, that would be mortifying. "Sounds fun, I'm jelly." Sam smiles, hoping I'll give details. I can hear chatter from the kitchen, so I move to the table I've been saving. Glancing to make sure Sammie isn't watching, I pop the top button of my shirt open and bend over the table. I angle myself toward the kitchen door, pretending I'm not watching it. Pretending I'm not deliberately showing what little cleavage I have, but; Kenny will come out soon. I'm not a shameless flirt, but I don't know how else to get him to notice me. All I have are these small moments, and even smaller hopes. 'Good morning'. 'See you tomorrow'. That's it. That's all I have. The door opens, and I freeze. Breath held. Tiny chest puffed. Feeling like an idiot. The thought of him stealing glances at me, or just noticing me at all, makes me quiver. I can already feel my nips drilling through my bra. He just strolls out like it's nothing, shaking his hair like a damn shampoo model. My teeth find my lip, and my damn heart flutters like a hummingbird. "Night," he says, waving. "See you tomorrow, Daisy." "See you good morning," I blurt out. My head slams against the table. Crash. Burn. "See you good morning?" I mutter. "What the fuck, Daisy. What. The. Fuck." Sammie laughs. "That was so smooth, Daize." "Shut Up," I say, throwing the rag at her. I've had this stupid crush on Kenny since I started working here. He's so sweet, and so very handsome. The way his hair falls down when he takes his hairnet off, ties my stomach into knots. On my first day, I forgot my lunch and my purse. He literally made me a meal, and even paid for it. I almost cried and decided right then that he would be my husband; boyfriend; we'll kiss one day? I sigh. Maybe our hands will brush together at some point? But, since it's a year later and I still haven't said a full coherent sentence to him; Outlook is bleak. John, the manager, walks out of the office and looks at us. "Daisy, you're opening tomorrow, right?" "Uh, no? I booked the day off, remember?" I ask. "Oh yeah, right," he says, rubbing his bald spot. "Sorry, losing track of everything as per." "We'd be worried about you if you weren't, boss," I say, picking the tray up and walking into the Kenny-less kitchen. He laughs nervously. "Doing anything nice?" "She's going to a festival in the city," Sammie answers for me. "I think it's a code for something, because I hadn't heard of anything." Good. The last thing I need is Sammie running her mouth about it. She's a sweet girl, but a gold medal winning gossip. If she knew, it would be global news within a week. Absolutely not. The workplace rumor is that Sammie and the boss are secretly an item. But neither of them will admit to anything. Hiding in the kitchen, my hands shake as I wash the cups. My heart is literally vibrating. How did I let my former roomy, Eliza, talk me into this? Why? That girl is too damn convincing for her own good. For my own good. Naked. In public? A chill runs down my spine, and I grasp the stainless steel sink to steady myself. It'll be fine. I try to convince myself. I'll be fine. My objectively gorgeous friends will be with me, so no one will even notice me, the pixie ballerina, at all. Is that better, or worse? I don't know. Drying my hands, I walk back through the cafe in a daze. Offering a small, polite smile to John as he holds the door open for me. The streets are full of people. Early evening hour in the center of a massive city. I hate crowds so much. Eclipsed by smartphone screens, I either dart out of the way or get flattened. Will the streets be this busy tomorrow? In the three years since the law passed, I haven't seen a single nude person in the city center Or anywhere outside. I suppose that's the English for you. Especially here. Nudity is definitely not professional enough. The hour-long train ride home is nerve-wracking. Tomorrow, I'll be an hour away from my clothes. Every seat is full, morning and night. Clinging to the handrail in my usual spot, pressed between half a dozen other commuters. I can't help but imagine tomorrow. My petite, naked self pressed between these same people. Idle hands grazing unrestricted flesh. ELIZA: T MINUS 7 HOURS. This is so stupid. I'll just make an excuse to Eliza. Not feeling well. Stubbed my toe. Dropped my liver on the way home. At least the streets on the way back to my flat are clear. That's one benefit of living in the greater metropolitan area. When I turn the corner to my street, I can see Eliza sitting on the wall outside my place. Fiddling with her phone. "What are you doing here?" I ask, shaking hands fumbling with my keys. I know exactly why she's here. To stop me from backing out. "I figured you'd be thinking of excuses," she said, hopping off the wall. "So, I'm here to keep you honest;" Eliza pulls a bottle of wine from her bag. "And drunk." We head inside, and Eliza makes herself at home. She's been my best friend since primary school, and I hate the power she has over me. Not that she's ever used it for evil, but she can shove me way too far outside my comfort zone. I hate how she's always right. In the kitchen, Eliza pops the cork and gestures at me with the bottle opener. "Clothes off," she says, raising her eyebrows and nodding expectantly. My shoulders drop. "Now?" I plead, giving her my best pout. "I'm so tired." "You can put that lip away for a start," Eliza says, pouring the rosé into the big wine glasses. "Get used to being naked. It'll make tomorrow easier." "Here," she says, handing me the glass. "A little Italian courage." Sighing, I take the glass and chug half of it. "That's Australian." "Really?" she asks, checking the label. "Italian, Australian; I knew it was one of the 'alians'. Regardless, nudity. Now." Eliza perches on the edge of a chair. Perfectly elegant in her damn power suit. The gray material stretching over her thighs, reminding me how utterly outclassed I am. She sips from the giant glass and wiggles her fingers at me. "Fine; fine." I resign myself. Kicking my shoes off first, I get the easy part out of the way. The black skirt go next, and they are half-way down my thighs before I even question why I'm obeying her. The cool air on my bare legs makes them clench. She's really going to make me do this. My shaking fingers move to the shirt next. It has enough buttons to delay, building that agonizing coil in my gut. Every loose button exposes me more. I feel sick, but I can't stop. Eliza is smirking at me as I fumble with the last button. With a shaking breath, I slide the shirt off my shoulders and let it fall. "There," I say, adjusting my knickers. Glad for the wine and the warmth it's bringing. She just rolls her eyes and raises an eyebrow. Scolding me without words until my head falls. I know what she wants. Reaching behind me, I unclasp my black 32 B push-up bra and let it hang loose on my shoulders. Giving her one last futile look of silent, rejected pleading, I let the bra fall to the floor. Nipples hard and tingling in the cold. My nipples always over-react. She stares at me until I slip my thumbs beneath the black nylon lace panties, sliding them to the floor, and adding them to the pile of discarded clothes and dignity. She didn't even let me keep my thigh-high socks on. I can feel my skin prickling with the damp evening chill and Eliza's attention. Grasping my arm over my tit and crossing my legs in front of me. A small shake of her head and even those small mercies are stolen. My lowered hands tap my bare thighs impotently. She nods. "Good. How do you feel?" "Naked, cold, naked, and stupid," I say, trying to find that elusive courage in my wineglass. My head and the glass are tilted way back when I see a flash and hear Eliza's phone camera. I choke on the mouthful of wine. "Did You Just Take A Picture?" "Oh, yes. I did," she says. A wide, mischievous grin spreads slowly over her face. "Do you remember Henry?" The sudden shift in topic throws me. "The guy you were 'dating'?" "Fucking, yes. Now, his sister's best friend's cousin is dating the best friend of Kenny's brother," she says, her foot is twitching with excitement. "Isn't that interesting?" "Objection; relevance," I say, in an amateur Horace Rumpole impersonation, while pouring myself another glass. I'm going to need it. "Overruled." She shifted forward in her seat. "I have Kenny's mobile number," she says, waving her phone at me. My eyes widen, and I drink more. She wouldn't send that picture to anyone. Would she? No, that's; I mean, I was ever-fantasizing on him seeing everything anyway; No. No no no. Not like that, not without; you know. My fantasy involves Fondling. The desire is for him to help me out of my clothes. "Eliza, please. I know you wouldn't share my nudes with my co-worker," I say, almost sounding convinced. "It would spread around the staff. Other cafes. Waitresses talk. Samantha; no you wouldn't." "Actually, I would, because I know things that you don't." Eliza stands up and walks over to me, placing her hand on my chin and turning my face toward her. Her hazel eyes glaring deep into me. She rubs a thumb over my lip, wiping up some spilled wine. "Wonderful things," she says, pressing her lips to her thumb before licking them. "Juicy things, Daisy." Juicy things? About Kenny? What did she learn? It could be anything. Eliza has a way of extracting information from casual conversations that would make MI6 very interested. I bite my lip and look up at her smug, smiling face. "Ha-how juicy?" "I'll tell you tomorrow." She smirks. "Do you still want to back out?" My chest is so tight every breath I take, shakes me. I slowly shake my head. "If you don't want to, you know I'm not going to force you, right?" she asks, kissing me on the head. "I push you because I love you." I take another large, nervous sip from my glass. "Daisy, do you remember why you agreed to this?" she asks, slipping her jacket off. "Uh, no?" I deflect. Eliza folds her coat and places it on the table. "Because you want to be seen," she says, unzipping her skirt and letting it fall to the floor. "More than that, you want to feel desired. Because you don't even notice when you are, you feel as though you are not." I watch her fold her skirt and place it on the jacket. Without a single breath of hesitation, her bra and panties join the pile, and I'm left staring at her. I would kill to look like her. She has her mother's Italian genes. I swear she's related to Sophia Loren. Tall. Leggy. Graceful. And those tits? They defy all reason. This isn't the first time we've seen each other naked. I mean, we've been friends for over a decade, but no matter how often it happens, no matter how hard I look. I can't find a single flaw. Not one. "Tell me," she asks; pouring herself some more wine. "Just envious of your perfect body," I mutter. She smiles. "Thank you, but I'm not perfect." Bullshit. If Eliza walked into my cafe, I would bet an entire week's wages on Kenny asking her out. Pointing to her left nipple. "This nipple is larger," she says, pinching it and tugging her tit. "but the whole boob is slightly smaller. They are also heavy, as you can imagine double D's would be, so gravity and physics are against me. They hang far lower than I'd like." Eliza steps over to me; shifts the glass into her other hand, tracing a finger around the circle of my tit. "I would love to have tits as shapely and pert as yours," she says, giving my nipple a playful flick. "And those cute little pink nipples? Daisy, I don't think you realize how envious of you, I am." Envious of me? Her tiny, dumpy, chronically-single, charity friend? I cock my head and look up at her. She's seriously good at pep talks. My nipple is still tingling where she flicked it. Great. Now I can't stop thinking about it. The warmth from the wine is spreading throughout me, and I can feel that rosy rosé flush on my cheeks and body. The cold air on my skin feels amazing now. I give Eliza a big hug, which presses my face into her hot skin and soft tits. "Thanks," I whisper. "I'd probably never do anything, if I didn't have you to talk me into it." She wraps an arm around me, her hand sliding down my back, causing the muscles to twitch and flex with the pleasant tickle that follows. "I think you were always planning on going through with it," she says, resting her glass on my head. "You just enjoy letting me think I've convinced you. It helps your anxious nerves if you can deflect your bold actions onto a trusted friend's influence." I carefully pull back to look at her. "How do you figure?" Eliza smirks again, her eyes flicking down towards my stomach. "You shaved your muffin." My eyes flick away from her knowing smirk. "I waxed last night," I mutter, hiding my beet face behind a desperate mouthful. I scamper to my laptop, dodging the accusation. "Hey look at this subject change," I say, booting it up to access a soothing playlist. "Let's not get drunk in silence, hmm?" The music helps, and I almost forget I'm naked; or at least stop worrying about it. I even dance a little, at Eliza's bemused insistence. All it takes is a bottle and a half to find my courage, and by the time we stumble into our twin beds, I'm actually excited to show everything to the world. Until; ALARMS. DAYLIGHT. HANGOVER. T PLUS 1 HOUR. I wake engulfed by Eliza. The first attempt to open my eyes is punished by the morning. Eliza is now in my bed. Learning my lesson, I lean closer, retreating into the comfort of her cleavage. She stirs to draw me in, and I wonder why I even tried to move at all. If only that incessant beeping would fuck off. We have a rule against turning off each other's alarms. She almost lost her job when I turned off her alarm, a few months ago. The beeping continues until Eliza groans and slaps my bedside table, then the lamp, finally killing the alarm. We both melt back into each other, sighing in the silence. It's 7am. "Coffee. Please, bring me coffee," she mumbles, pulling the blanket over both of our heads. I open my eyes beneath the cover, wiping the crust from my lashes. My cheek is wet, so I rub my face on the blanket and mop my drool from her chest. After checking she isn't looking, of course. Sliding out of bed, I rest my feet on the floor and stare at them. I don't want to be awake. I want to be asleep in the warm boobs. Standing up, a challenge in its own right, I'm chilled and painfully pulled out of my slumber by the cold morning air. I waddle toward the kitchen. I catch a glance of myself in the mirror that slaps the fog away. Bare skin. We're going into the fucking city, naked. Today. I drag my hands through my hair as I shuffle into the kitchen. "You can do it, Daisy," I mumble, flicking the kettle on. "You want to do it. Don't let the fear beat you." That's easier said than done. If I was being totally honest, the idea of it excites me a little. Just a little. The novelty of it. It's daring, and I'm never that. But; it's also terrifying. What if someone takes a picture? If they post it online, boom; Everyone I know has my nudes and I'm a floozy; A desperate pariah. A slut. Banned from all the church social events, and doomed to never find a respectable husband. Which is just my life in a 'slut' shell. I fill the cups with some strong, milky coffees. Three scoops. Extra milk. Guzzle-safe. Stumbling back to the bedroom, I see Eliza stretching in front of the opened curtains. She has no shame. None. "What are you doing?" I ask, offering a cup. "What if the neighbors see?" Eliza smirks. "Daisy, we'll be walking out of here naked. They're going to see." Oh shit. That's right. That's; A lot of the neighbors now have street facing cameras. Oh fuck. This will not be some quick thing that goes away. Things will never be the same. I chug the cup while catastrophising. From now until the day I move, every look I get, every smile, every nod, every 'good morning'; I'm going to be wondering if that neighbor saw me. If they have actual footage of my unmentionables. Would they jerk it looking at me? Do I want that? It would be nice to feel; desirable? Sexy? But what if it's not even hot enough for them to jack off to? This is stupid, but it might be nice to be sexualized for once. Not in a gross way, but feeling pretty, or even just comfortable in my skin. The way Eliza is. My heart goes into overdrive as we get ready. Showering, brushing our teeth, doing our hair and make-up. The most mundane things, but they're a countdown. When each new thing is finished, I'm one step closer to the moment all my walls come crashing down. Can you actually die from embarrassment? Eliza, fucking Eliza, is as calm as I've ever seen her. Perfectly applying her perfect lipstick to her stupid, perfect lips. Her hands aren't even shaking. How? Was she a robot this whole time? "I got you something," she says, sliding a ribbon-tied box from her handbag. "I have one to match." Inside is a small, rustic leather bag with two straps. "A leg bag?" I ask, watching as she pulls a larger one, unwrapped, from her handbag. Eliza takes the bag from me. "You needed somewhere to keep your sundries," she says, kneeling and fastening the belt and leg strap. "Y

Saving Ourselves For Marriage: Part 3

SAVING OURSELVES FOR MARRIAGE: PART 3 MORE VALENTINES DAYS. Based on a post by Architect 23 94 [https://www.literotica.com/authors/Architect2394/works], in 3 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast [https://archive.org/download/summer-2025_202506/SavingOurselvesForMarriage3.mp3] at Connected [https://feeds.feedburner.com/connected-podcast]. [https://archive.org/download/summer-2025_202506/SavingOurselvesForMarriage3.jpg] The guilt provoked by Mr. Jacobs' observation was fleeting, and Emily texted me 3 days later, "Can we have another Valentine's Day tonight?" It was clear that the charade was over, and 'Valentine's Day' was her chosen euphemism for spending less-than-wholesome time together. Our relationship had become a dichotomy of two very different and compartmentalized romances. One of a pure and honorable public courtship, and the other of two young lovers clandestinely exploring physical passions. "Yes, 7?" "See you then." This time I locked the side door while we were closing the store, then unlocked it for Emily after Mr. Jacobs left. I thought about our new paradigm while saut ing some chicken then slicing it over the top of two Caesar salads. We were no longer pretending that our physical explorations were isolated happenstantial occurrences. The primary purpose of the night was clear, and I decided I might as well plan for it. An erection was imminent, and I decided to change clothes rather than risk being painfully bound-up in my jeans again. I rummaged through drawers and hanging clothes, carefully considering the functional benefits of each piece while also not wanting to appear too overtly presumptuous. Ultimately, I decided on a pair of loose-fitting linen pants, and a nice front-pocket t-shirt. I think Emily had the same idea. She arrived wearing a well-coordinated athletic outfit that was very fashionable, but very out of character for her. She wore white running shoes with low-cut ankle socks, a well-fitted white Lululemon zip-down hoodie, and baby-blue Lululemon yoga leggings that ended a few inches above her ankles. I had seen Emily in a variety of very attractive dresses and skirts, but nothing that revealed the shape of her body like those leggings. They fit like a second skin and clearly showed every soft curve of her legs and butt. The sight was incredibly sexy, and I stared unabashedly as she hung up her winter coat and came to greet me in the kitchen. We met in an all-consuming embrace and I lifted her into my arms. She added support by wrapping her legs around my hips and we began hungrily kissing, tongues eagerly intertwining. I was not interested at all in the salads sitting on the counter and carried Emily over to the sofa. Her legs loosened their grip on me and, with our mouths still joined, I bent forward to place her on the floor. She guided me backward into a slouched seating position and climbed over me to sit straddled over my left thigh, in the same way we had a few days ago. As each second passed, our desires grew and inhibitions loosened. In the midst of our urgent kissing, Emily began slowly and deliberately rocking her pelvis on my leg, and my hands boldly slid over her hips to encourage their motions. The erotic scenario brought physical sensations on a level that I had never experienced before. I could feel my erection obscenely tenting the thin fabric of my pants, and my balls hanging heavily between my legs. Both were hyper-sensitive to every subtle movement, and my completely engorged cock throbbed with every beat of my pulse. I loved feeling the motions of Emily's hips in my hands but yearned for more direct contact than I could have through the thick cloth of her hoodie. My large hands clumsily attempted to slide under the snuggly stretched tails without success. Sensing my intentions, Emily pulled away from our kissing and maintained eye contact while she sat upright on my thigh. Without a spoken word, she unzipped and discarded the hoodie to reveal a thin, strappy sports bra matching the baby-blue color of her leggings. Her eyes watched mine as they surveyed the amazing sight before me. The bra concealed two compressed mounds that appeared proportionate in size to her very petite frame, with subtle curves of cleavage extending above its swooping neckline. My eyes soaked in her feminine form above and below the bra, absorbing the softly toned body and flawless flushed skin revealed to me for the very first time. She watched as I admired her in amazement, "You are so beautiful." Without saying anything, she laid herself back on top of me and our mouths passionately met again. My hands went to her hips, feeling every curve through the thin fabric leggings and directing her to resume rocking on my leg. She did, and her motions quickly evolved from rocking into a firm rhythmic grinding. Shortly thereafter, our kissing stopped and we pressed our foreheads together, both breathing heavily with mouths inches apart. I could feel heat building on my thigh, emanating from both her legging covered folds and the friction of her intensifying pressure. Our eyes locked, Emily placed her hands on my chest and pushed her torso upright to adjust the angle of her grinding. She continued supporting herself on my chest while my hands slid up the sides of her thin waist and intuitively palmed her bra covered breasts, kneading them the best I could through the restrictive fabric. Emily intensified her grinding and the combined stimulation sent her to a new level, eyes rolling backward and body tremoring while she lost control. One hand still supported herself on my chest, but the other unconsciously dropped downward and grasped my fabric covered cock. The mere touch of her hand triggered my own reaction, tightening my balls and soaking my linen pants with copious surges of cum. I looked down in horror to see the messy results of my eruption, but also saw a large darkening blue circle in the crotch of Emily's leggings. I looked upward from the sights and smells of our fornication and met Emily's eyes. We silently stared at each other for several minutes, telepathically sharing a complex and confusing mix of lust, shock, and guilt. Eventually, Emily dismounted my leg and did her best to make herself presentable before leaving. We said goodbye with a timid hug, uneaten salads still on the kitchen counter. GUILT. We both knew we crossed a sinful line that night, and I think we were both scared. It wasn't sex in the traditional sense of the word, and we were technically both still virgins, but our actions were clearly outside the acceptable boundaries of Biblical purity and integrity. I know I was scared for several reasons but, most of all, scared that our relationship may have been permanently damaged. I wasn't the spiritual leader she wanted me to be, and I wasn't strong enough to maintain her purity. Over the next 12 hours, I vacillated between wanting to address the issue head-on and wanting to bury my head in the sand to ignore it. Around noon the next day, I manned-up enough to do the right thing and texted Emily, "Can you stop by the store this afternoon?" "Yes. What's up?" "I think we should talk about last night." My phone rang a few seconds later with a voice call. It was Emily. "Hi Michael." "Hey." "I can stop by the store, but I'm not ready to talk about last night." I started to protest, "I'm so sorry. I'm worried I ruined;” She interrupted firmly but compassionately, "Stop!; Michael, I love you. Nothing that happened last night changed that. I wanted everything that happened just as much as you did, if not more. You are not to blame. If anybody, I was the instigator." "But I;” She interjected again, "Michael!; I have a lot of conflicting feelings and I'm not ready to talk yet. I'll let you know when I am. Until then, please know that I love you and I don't want this to be an awkward thing between us. It's just something that we need to figure out together." "Ok, I love you too." We ended our phone call, and my phone chimed a text alert a few seconds later, "I'll stop by around 4. I love you." I typed back, "See you then. I love you too." Emily did stop by the store that day and it was surprisingly relaxed and comfortable. We talked about current happenings with school and our friends, just like we had during any of her past social visits to the store. Mr. Jacobs was there and even commented how he enjoyed Emily's visits and seeing us together, to which we both smiled in appreciation. VIVID DREAMS. The 'public courtship' portion of our relationship continued as normal over the next days and weeks, spending time together as we always had, though I was admittedly self-conscious and sheepish during Sunday afternoon dinners at her parents' house. I mentally declared the end of 'Valentine's Day' and prayed constantly for the health of our relationship, patiently waiting for Emily to be ready to talk. My determination for future integrity was strong and steadfast; for about a week. After that, occasional flashbacks of passion and physical pleasure began creeping into my thoughts, and slowly started eroding my resolve. Several nights, I awoke from very vivid and unwholesome dreams with painful throbbing erections, effectively eliminating any remaining willpower I may have had. Coincidentally, about 3-weeks after our night of debauchery, I had just woken up from a night of graphic dreams when my phone chimed with an early-morning text from Emily. "Valentine's Day tonight?" I had little resistance to the idea while lying in bed with a rock-hard erection, but still felt the need to offer at least a minimal fa ade of reluctance. "Are you sure?" She replied immediately, "Yes, I miss V-day." "Me too. 7?" "See you then!" My anticipation escalated exponentially as time slowly ticked forward and I went about my typical daily activities. I needed a distraction from watching the clock and soaked in some sun between classes and work by walking to the grocery store. It happened to be an unseasonably warm April day with temperatures in the upper 70s, and the town was alive with people emerging from winter hibernation. Students studied on blankets and played lawn games in the campus quad, while an abundance of bikers and joggers overtook the local streets and sidewalks. After Mr. Jacobs and I closed the store, I went upstairs to find the apartment was sweltering. I opened the front windows and quickly changed into a t-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting breathable gym shorts. The gentle breeze slowly brought indoor temperatures down as I assembled two salads using a mix of spring greens, grilled chicken, dried cherries, candied pecans, gorgonzola cheese, and a raspberry vinaigrette. Emily arrived promptly at 7 o'clock wearing a very cute little sundress and white designer sneakers. The pastel mint-green dress was made of a light-weight linen fabric and had a fluttering bottom hem that ended a few inches above her knees. Thin spaghetti straps crisscrossed over her exposed shoulder blades and reconnected to the dress fabric midway down her back, low enough for me to recognize she couldn't be wearing a bra. The dress wasn't overly revealing by most standards but was definitely more adventurous than Emily's typically modest outfits. "Wow, you look incredible!" She gave me a flirtatious smile and said, "I'm glad you approve. I was thinking about you when I bought it." I responded with a teasing, "Oh really;” and pulled her into my arms for a hello kiss that turned into four or five. Breaking our kisses, I pointed at the bowls on the counter and said, "Let's eat before we; get too distracted." Emily laughed and we sat at the kitchen table to eat our salads, chatting like the best friends we had become. Conversation flowed easily despite our recent complexities and was testament that our relationship was grounded and true. I felt closer to her than ever. When finished, we both stood and placed our respective dishes in the kitchen sink. Emily turned to step away, but I quickly grabbed her by the waist and she squealed in surprise when I lifted her to sit on the edge of the counter. I stood between her legs, gazed into her eyes, and proclaimed from the depth of my heart, "I love you Emily Fulton." I immediately pressed my lips against hers and she responded by wrapping her arms around my neck and clutching her legs around my waist. The slow, deep, passionate kisses that followed were an honest and true expression of our pure love, and nothing less. Those first kisses filled with gentle romantic passion gradually evolved into more eager desire, our tongues exploring each other's mouths and searching for a greater depth of joining. I wrapped my arms around Emily's waist and lifted her from the counter, her arms and legs clutching me tight. She giggled playfully as I collapsed backward on the sofa, her landing on top of me, straddled over my lap. Our kissing continued with her body pressed fully against mine, my hands roaming her back and enjoying the soft skin exposed by the open-back dress. Emily occasionally shifted the weight of her hips from side to side as we made out. I sensed that maybe the position was uncomfortable for her, and asked between kisses, "Are you ok?" She sat upright on my lap and reached for the bottom of her dress, "I'm fine, the dress is just bunched up and I can't move." She planted her knees on either side of my lap and lifted upward to pull the dress out from underneath herself, revealing a quick glimpse of white low-rise bikini-style panties. At the same time, I took the opportunity to reach into my shorts and adjust my fully engorged cock to a more comfortable position, pointing the swollen head toward my stomach and utilizing the elastic waistband of my shorts to hold it in place. Emily watched intently as I adjusted myself then momentarily studied the resulting bulge before pressing herself back against me. My length was firmly sandwiched between us and the feel of her body against mine was an indescribable new experience, even though it was through a few layers of fabric. As we renewed our make-out session, Emily was enjoying the feel of my cock pressing into her stomach and slowly began inching her way up my body. When her mons came to rest over the base of my shaft, she began slowly rolling her hips forward in an effort to gain better contact with her panty-covered pussy. After repeated attempts without the desired effect, she momentarily pulled away from our kissing and very purposely shifted further upward to place her womanly heat squarely on the middle of my shaft. She intently rocked her pelvis forward and backward, nestling my girth between her folds as much as the cotton barrier would allow, then increased her movement to slide up and down the length of the shaft. My hands instinctively moved to Emily's hips to reinforce her motions, then more boldly slid to cup and squeeze her ass. The physics of her motions, and my erection's desire to stand upright, worked in concert to move the elastic waistband downward from where it had secured my cock against my stomach. The exposure was hidden from view by the hem of her sundress, but I easily distinguished the new sensation of her warm, wet cotton panties rubbing directly on the sensitive underside of my shaft. We gazed lustfully into each other's eyes, heavily inhaling and exhaling, as Emily sat upright and wantonly pleasured herself on my length and girth. The movements pulled at the fabric of her sundress, rhythmically becoming taut with each cycling motion and imprinting her stiff nipples through the thin fabric. The temptation was too much, and my hands slid up the sides of her torso to cover her breasts through the dress. Emily kept her eyes locked on mine when she brushed my hands away, then slipped the thin spaghetti straps off her shoulders allowing the top of the dress to fall away and pool around her waist. She continued grinding on my cock and watched intently as I took in the sight of her naked breasts for the first time. The perky mounds were in perfect proportion to her tiny frame and jostled slightly with each of her pelvic thrusts. My fixation was interrupted by the longing in her voice, "Touch me Michael." The luxuriously tender pillows conformed to the curvature of my hands, slightly puffy areolas and hardened nipples pressing into my palms. I kneaded them with fascination as Emily hastened her pelvic motions and vigorously crushed our genitals together with all her body weight. The product of her arousal copiously soaking through the thin panties and generously lubricating our 'dry' mating. I cupped her breasts with my hands and squeezed them such that her nipples were gently pinched between my thumbs and forefingers. The erotic sensations sent both of us over the edge. Emily's movements on my shaft became erratic and her entire body began trembling in the throes of orgasm. Simultaneously, my heavily swollen balls constricted and a torrent of cum surged through my cock, pumping stream after stream of milky fluid into the sundress that still draped over our joined mid-sections. Emily collapsed onto my chest and laid motionless, only rising and falling with the movements of my chest as we both attempted to catch our breath. Once our breathing slowed, she spoke somewhat exhaustedly, "You didn't let me answer you earlier. I love you too, Michael Walker." We laid together in post-orgasmic bliss for several minutes, lightly kissing and caressing. The repercussions weren't immediate like they were a few weeks before, but they did come. We were both hit with the carnal reality of the situation when Emily climbed off me and we saw the front of her sundress completely soaked with a combination of our sexual fluids. It shouldn't have been a surprise, but the lewdly soiled dress was a graphic trigger for our guilt and shame. We didn't have any way of cleaning and drying the dress in a reasonable amount of time, so we placed it in a grocery bag for her to take back to the dorm. Luckily, we had a small selection of women's gardening clothes in the hardware store, so Emily wrapped herself in a towel and we went down to the second floor, requisitioning a pair of women's overalls and a t-shirt. It was better than nudity, but the ill-fitting clothing was an obvious sign that something was wrong, and it wouldn't be difficult for friends to figure out what was going on. We just hoped we could get her back to the dorm without someone noticing. I led the way, walking a fair distance ahead of Emily and giving a signal behind my back if I saw someone approaching. On my cue, she would duck behind a tree, shrub, building, or other form of cover until they passed. Our system worked well, but it could only go so far. Men weren't allowed in the women's dorm, so she would have to make the last leg of the journey on her own. We peered through the glass entryway and only saw the front desk student-worker who happened to be distracted with an iPad and earbuds. Emily made a break for it, quickly opening the door and scampering through the lobby until I lost sight of her. I lingered outside the dorm for what seemed like forever before receiving a text, "Made it. Had to hide in the stairway for a couple minutes. Nobody saw me." "Ok, good." The adrenaline of sneaking Emily home faded as I walked back to the apartment, and it was replaced by the oppressive weight of guilt and remorse. Not only had I yielded to weakness and temptation, but we had broken even the most liberal definitions of Christian integrity and purity. Certainly privately, and almost publicly. OVERWHELMED BY GUILT. I skipped my classes the next morning and laid in bed, wallowing in my guilt. Emily must have been doing the same, because I received a text from one of her friends asking if she was ok. She wasn't in class and wasn't answering her phone. I called and she answered immediately, though with a somber voice, "Aren't you supposed to be in class?" "I didn't feel like going." "Me either." "Emily, we have to talk about Valentine's Day. We both know what we're doing is wrong; we can't keep going on this roller coaster of euphoria and guilt." She cried, and spoke in a trembling voice between sniffles, "I know; but; it doesn't feel wrong; when; we're together."

Saving Ourselves For Marriage: Part 2

SAVING OURSELVES FOR MARRIAGE: PART 2 NEXT GENERATION DISCIPLESHIP AND SOCIAL GROUP. Based on a post by Architect 23 94 [https://www.literotica.com/authors/Architect2394/works], in 3 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast [https://archive.org/download/summer-2025_202506/SavingOurselvesForMarriage2.mp3] at Connected [https://feeds.feedburner.com/connected-podcast]. [https://archive.org/download/summer-2025_202506/SavingOurselvesForMarriage2.jpg] As it turned out, I would learn a lot more about the subject during NG group a couple weeks later. The study that week was on 'integrity in relationships'. The study material was pretty general and covered all kinds of relationships, both social and business. However, discussion among the unmarried college students naturally morphed into a dialogue of biblical perspectives on dating relationships and sexual purity. The group consisted of students from very conservative Powell College, so the conversation was much what you would expect in terms of defining physical boundaries in dating relationships, avoiding temptation, abstaining from pre-marital sex, etc. Emily was sitting a few chairs to my right and noticeably fidgeted with her Bible cover while others talked about various 'Christian' guidelines for dating. She listened politely to several volleys of points and counterpoints before adding her own perspective to the conversation. "Sexual purity is important, but I think we're getting lost in legalism and missing God's larger purpose. The whole purpose of 'dating' is to find the spouse God has intended for us. That shouldn't be done randomly or haphazardly. We should be building serious platonic friendships and know that marriage is a very real possibility before ever going on a date." She continued after a slight pause, "For me personally, I don't want to 'date'. I want to be attracted to a guy that I already love as my best friend, and then have him 'court' me as an intentional commitment leading to marriage." She hesitated for an instant, then added, "I know that sounds unromantic and clinical; and maybe I'm being na ve since I've never dated; but I don't think there would be as much temptation if the relationship is defined by God's larger plan." My mental wheels started turning as Emily's comment pivoted the group's conversation toward God's intent for marriage. Everything she said made a lot of sense and I spent the next couple days reading the Bible and studying everything I could find on the topic. Meanwhile, I couldn't help but analyze our friendship, and my feelings toward her, within that newly discovered context. EMILY’S NOTE INITIATIVE. The next time I saw Emily was Saturday morning when she stopped by the hardware store to say hello. Unfortunately, there were a lot of customers in the store and I was busy helping an older couple choose a new mailbox. Emily waved while the couple debated between themselves whether or not to spend the extra couple dollars for a sturdier metal box vs. a plastic one. She wrote something on a yellow notepad by the cash register, then waved goodbye as she walked out of the store. The couple decided to go for the metal mailbox, which I thought was a good decision, and then I made sure they had the mounting hardware they would need. I went on to assist several other customers, and it was probably an hour before I was finally able to look at Emily's note. Beautiful flowing handwriting was perfectly aligned on the ruled notepad and read, "Just stopped to say hi! I'll be studying at the library this afternoon if you are free. Text me." She signed the bottom of the note with a simple "-E" accompanied by a smiley face and her cell phone number. I involuntarily smiled at the sight of her smiley face and phone number. The smiley face was just cute. The number was a welcome new step in our friendship. I saved her number in my phone and texted, "Sorry, I work until 6." I did want to see her and, on a whim, quickly hit send on a follow-up text, "Root beer at Muggs?" My phone chimed almost immediately, "Text me when you are leaving the store." Mr. Jacobs and I locked up the store at 6 o'clock and I texted Emily shortly after to let her know I was leaving. The local dog 'n suds type window-service stand was popular with Powell students and townsfolk alike, and was located just a couple blocks away from the hardware store. I was there in just a couple minutes and found the sunny April day had given a lot of other people the same idea. I didn't see Emily yet, but I figured I should claim a place in the ordering line. She arrived a few minutes later, fashionably dressed in a knee length olive-color skirt, light-tan corded sweater, medium-brown tights, and light-tan laced-boot style heels. We greeted each other with a friendly hug and then discussed what to order as the line crept forward. When it was our turn at the window, Emily ordered a chili-cheese dog, fries, and root beer. I did the same and we both paid for our respective meals. We shuffled a few steps over to the service window and, within seconds, received our tray of food. All the picnic tables were occupied and we waited a few moments as a family stood up and gathered their trash. Once seated, Emily opened her petite mouth as wide as she could and fiercely attacked the comparatively huge chili dog. I chuckled at the odd contrast of neatly-dressed, normally prim-and-proper Emily sitting there with an overstuffed mouth and chili running down the back of her hand. She facetiously reprimanded me with a mouth full of chili dog, "Stop it! These things are hard to eat!" After talking for more than an hour, we disposed our trash and exited the corral of picnic tables onto the sidewalk. I didn't want our time together to end and asked, "Would you like to go for a walk?" "Yes, that would be nice." We slowly strolled side-by-side toward the Powell campus as the sun moved lower in the sky. Remembering back to our conversation about Haiti, I asked, "Have you made plans for the summer?" "Yes, and I should thank you for that. I did a lot of thinking and praying after we talked that day at the hardware store. I'm going to stay here and volunteer at the Christian school's summer camp for special needs children." "That's great, but why thank me?" "Well, I was encouraging you that God can use you in great ways in your hometown; which I truly believe by the way; but, I think I was actually talking more to myself that day than I was you. You made me realize I strayed from God's calling. I chased the glamour of overseas adventures when I should have been right here reaching people in my own community." She told me more about the summer camp as we slowly followed the meandering campus pathways, and it made me happy to hear the excitement and joy in her voice. The topic of our summers dwindled to a close and we were content to walk in silence, just enjoying the time together. After a little while, Emily somewhat hesitantly asked, "Michael; how did you feel about the NG study last week? You didn't say anything during the discussion." We happened to be passing a bench when she asked the question and I gestured for us to sit down. We did, and I started talking from my heart without giving any thought to what I was saying. "Honestly, I hadn't put much thought into relationships or marriage before that study. Not that I don't want to get married, I do. I'm just so awkward around girls; er, women; you know that. Dating was never a relevant subject for me, so let's just say there wasn't an urgent need to study God's intent for it." Emily started to interject, "You're;” but truncated her comment when she realized I wasn't finished with my thought. "I've done a lot of praying, studying and thinking since Wednesday. While courtship isn't directly spelled out in Scripture, I think what you said makes a lot of sense. I believe God's intent is for people to truly know the real intellectual, emotional, and spiritual soul of the other person, and to seek God's guidance for them as a potential spouse. I think most of that can be done within the context of platonic friendship; without the, er; complications; of traditional dating." Our eyes met before I very intentionally suggested, "Mental and physical attraction is important too, but I think everyone knows that pretty much immediately without dating." Emily simply replied, "Yes, I think you are right about feeling attraction right away." She said it with normal tone and inflection in her voice, but her eyes gave her away. She had feelings for me, but was waiting for me as the Christian man to be the leader of the relationship. I was honest and a thinly veiled in my response, "This whole idea is very new to me. I know how I feel, but I need to do a lot more thinking and praying on the subject." Emily smiled warmly and we resumed our walk with more mundane topics of conversation. THINKING AND PRAYING. I did do a lot more thinking and praying on the subject over the following week. I knew how I felt about Emily, but I also knew that the idea of courtship was a huge commitment. Did God place her in my life as my future wife, or just as a really good friend? The last thing I wanted to do was take that decision lightly and end up hurting Emily. The timing was also terrible. The spring term was ending in 3 weeks and we both had geographically separate summer commitments, her at the Christian school summer camp, and me at Burkee Hardware. I didn't feel it was right to take the next step with her then spend the next 3 months apart. I also didn't think it was fair to leave her in limbo for 3 months and decided we needed to have a real conversation. I was working at the hardware store that Friday afternoon and sent her a text, "Are you free tonight?" She responded a few minutes later, "Yes." "Hardware store at 6?" "K" Emily arrived a couple minutes after 6 o'clock, just as I was flipping the 'OPEN' sign in the front display window to 'CLOSED'. She smiled and cutely waved to me through the glass as she opened the creaky screen door. Dressed fashionably as always, she wore nicely fitting blue jeans and a white tailored button-down blouse that was thin enough to reveal the subtle shadow of a lace bra beneath. The outfit was smartly accented with matching black leather ballet flats, belt, and handbag. The screen door squeaked shut and I greeted her from the front display platform, "Hi Emily. Would you mind closing the solid door and flipping the lock?" "Sure." She did and we gave each other a brief hello-hug after I stepped down from the platform. We sat facing each other in a couple old wood benches next to the front counter. Emily placed her handbag on the floor next to her, then sat rather formally on the bench with hands folded in her lap. I had been building up courage for the conversation all day and couldn't bring myself to make small-talk. "I've been doing a lot of praying since we talked last Saturday, and I would like to talk with you about it some more. I'm probably going to stumble my way through this, so please let me get everything out before you respond." Emily mouthed an almost silent, "Ok," while she sat with a concerned expression on her face and nervously fidgeting hands. "Emily, I want you to know that you are very special to me. From the day I met you Freshman year, I thought you were amazing. I was just a stranger to you that day, but you overlooked my awkwardness and genuinely cared about me as a person. And not just me, you treat everyone you meet with that same authenticity. You are truly a gift to everyone in your life." My eyes began to swell with tears as I spoke, "I'm so thankful for the time we've been able to spend together this year. You're my best friend; and I think maybe God brought us together to be more than friends; but I'm scared;” Emily brushed away tears that were streaming down her cheeks. "I couldn't live with myself if I hurt you;” I gathered myself for a few moments before continuing, "I want you to know that I take any commitment to courtship, and to you, very seriously. As much as my heart is screaming at me, I don't think it's wise to make an emotional decision right now; or for us to start that kind of commitment as a long-distance relationship over the summer." We were both openly crying. "I'm so sorry Emily. I hope you can forgive;” She interrupted me, "Michael! These aren't sad tears. You are the most incredible man; and my best friend. These are tears of happiness that you have the same feelings for me as I do for you." We both stood and organically melted into each other's arms, my shirt absorbing her tears as she nestled her head against my chest. Her voice was muffled by my chest when she said, "I appreciate that you are seeking God's plan us, and not just following our emotions. I'll be here when the time is right, no matter the answer." I truly appreciated Emily's graciousness and patience, but it was still a very unsatisfactory conclusion for me. I suspect it was for her too. UNSPOKEN UNDERSTANDING. Emily and I spent as much time together as we could before the school year ended. In an unspoken understanding, we put aside serious relationship topics and just enjoyed a simple, everyday friendship. One of my best memories of that period, was when Emily stopped by the store for one of her normal 'hello' social calls on the last Wednesday of the school year. I had promised Mr. Jacobs that I would price a recently received shipment of new inventory before leaving for the summer. He was old-school, so that meant manually stickering each item with a pricing gun. I was just starting the process when Mr. Jacobs directed Emily toward the stock room where I was busy opening boxes. There was a lot to do and I convinced her to help apply pricing stickers while I focused on opening boxes and making count tallies on the inventory sheet. I gave a quick training session on how to use the pricing gun, then watched in amusement as her slightly OCD personality expressed itself through the pricing gun. She would carefully verify the listed price for each item, set the dial on the gun, then meticulously apply the stickers so they had the same location and orientation on each item. We worked well together and made it through most of the boxes by closing time. I left a few items for last because they needed a special vendor symbol added to the sticker. Rather than teaching Emily, I dialed the symbol on the gun and quickly slapped on the stickers, much too haphazardly for her liking. "Hey! Give me that!" I mischievously mocked, "What?; this???" while holding the gun over her head. She jumped unsuccessfully to reach it and I retaliated by slapping her shoulder with the gun, leaving behind a $3.49 sticker. She protested futilely, "Stop! Not fair!" I held the gun back over her head using both hands to adjust the dial, "You're right, you're worth more than that. How about $5.99." She playfully punched my stomach and laughed uncontrollably while I landed a dozen more pricing stickers on her back and arms. I reveled in hearing the pure innocent joy in Emily's laugh and let my guard down a little too much. She swiped the gun out of my hand and proceeded to dance like a boxer while occasionally landing sticker hits on my legs and torso. Mr. Jacobs must have heard the commotion. He opened the stock room door to find Emily dancing around me with the gun, and both of us covered in price stickers. I made the mistake of looking toward the door, and Emily took the opportunity to land three more quick shots. Mr. Jacobs thought that was the funniest thing ever and his booming laugh joined ours in echoing through the building. SEPARATION WOES. Emily and I hugged and cried as we said goodbye for the summer. We talked on the phone at least once every day and texted constantly that summer, sharing every little detail about our days. True to Emily's encouragement over the last year, I was much more intentional in my conversations with everyone; friends, family, customers, acquaintances; everyone. It was transformational to develop 'real' relationships with people that I had known superficially for many years and, in two instances, to be able to see them come to faith in Christ. When the Burkee's returned from vacation at the end of the summer, I insisted on taking them out for dinner at a really nice 'big city' restaurant. Well, it wasn't 5-star, but it was the best restaurant in the next larger town a half hour away. It was the final year of our annual tuition-vacation arrangement and I wanted to thank them for all they had done for me. I expressed a sincere debt of gratitude that I didn't think I would ever be able to repay, but they repeatedly assured me it was a mutually beneficial situation and, if anything, the outstanding debt was on their side of the ledger. The extended summer vacations had brought back a connection in their relationship that they hadn't felt since they were young. In fact, they were hoping that they could work out a similar agreement with another high school student they had hired and come to trust. Strangely, being physically apart from Emily for the summer allowed me to gain clarity. She was everything I could ever want or need in a life partner. We were spiritually, intellectually, and emotionally aligned. She was my best friend, and a beautiful person inside and out. We simply made each other better. And most of all; I realized what I felt was more than fleeting attraction. I resolutely believed that God meant us to be together. TALKING TO HER FATHER. Back in Powell on Tuesday before classes started, I was eager to see Emily but first needed to talk to her father. The Fulton's were a very conservative and traditional family, like Powell College itself, and I wanted to honor that. I can't say I knew her parents well, but Emily had introduced me at church and I usually had short exchanges with them on Sunday mornings. Dr. Fulton was a pleasant, though formal man of average height and build. Mrs. Fulton was simply an older version of Emily in every way, both appearance and personality. Professors were required by the college to hold open office hours the week before classes, and I knew that would be my best opportunity to find him without Emily knowing. I knocked on his door early Tuesday afternoon with a firm response of, "Come in." I opened the door and stepped in, "Hello Dr. Fulton." He started flipping through some papers on his desk and spoke inquisitively, "Hello Michael. Are you enrolled in one of my courses this term?" I felt the unconscious need to match his formality, "No, sir. This call is of a personal nature. Would you prefer I contact you outside of office hours?" Intrigued, he set his reading glasses on the desk and leaned back in his chair, "What can I do for you Michael?" "It's about Emily, sir. I have had the privilege of getting to know her over the past three years, and think she is an amazing, Godly woman. We've become very good friends and I believe God may have larger plans for us." I paused briefly without receiving any immediate reaction from Dr. Fulton, then continued, "I would like to ask your permission to pursue a relationship with Emily." "Define relationship." "Courtship, sir. I would like to court her with the intent of progressing our relationship toward marriage." Seemingly satisfied with that response, he asked, "Have you talked about this with Emily?" "We talked about our growing feelings for each other before summer break. I think we both knew we were heading this direction, but God really gave me clarity over the summer. With your permission, I intend to ask her tomorrow." "Are you committed to the Biblical model of marriage?" "Yes sir." "That includes being the spiritual leader in the relationship, loving and honoring Emily as Christ would the Church; and upholding her purity before marriage?" "Yes sir." "Very well then. You have my permission." He stood to shake my hand, "I know she fancies you. I suspect I'll be hearing news soon.&quo

Saving Ourselves For Marriage: Part 1

SAVING OURSELVES FOR MARRIAGE: PART 1 TWO YOUNG CHRISTIANS EXPLORING LOVE AND PASSION. Based on a post by Architect 23 94 [https://www.literotica.com/authors/Architect2394/works], in 3 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast [https://archive.org/download/summer-2025_202506/SavingOurselvesForMarriage1.mp3] at Connected [https://feeds.feedburner.com/connected-podcast]. [https://archive.org/download/summer-2025_202506/SavingOurselvesForMarriage1.jpg] I sit naked in an overstuffed leather armchair absorbing my surreal surroundings. The remnant scents of crushed rose petals and last night's love making fill my nostrils while the gentle glow of dawn filters through leaded glass windows and sheer drapery. Gold-leaf picture frames and an antique clock face give off a slight radiance that contrast against the historic mansion's otherwise dark furnishings and wood paneling. Of everything in the room, the object most strikingly highlighted by the soft illumination is Emily's smooth alabaster leg extending from underneath the king size bed's dark duvet cover. The room is silent except for faint, deep breaths of slumber emanating from beneath the duvet. While my senses are filled by the early morning experience, treasured memories of the journey to this moment float through my head. MY CHILDHOOD. God has been good to me. I was raised in a very loving home by two wonderful parents, both faithful Believers who raised their two sons to be Godly young men. My mom worked as an elementary schoolteacher but spent most of her free time spearheading our church's county-wide food pantry ministry. Dad was a jack-of-all-trades who probably had 20 different jobs over his working career, not because he wasn't good at the jobs, but because he was a very inquisitive person and became quickly bored with each pursuit. We weren't monetarily wealthy by any definition, but we were a solid working-class family and our basic day-to-day needs were met. There were a few local main street businesses that were the economic and social hubs for our small Midwest farming community. Linda's Diner was the only restaurant in our one-flashing-light town, and was where the retired crowd started their morning with coffee and gossip. Following breakfast, the older men moved to the John Deere dealership where they spent the morning drinking more coffee and lamenting that "they don't make tractors like they used to." Meanwhile, the older women went to Clancy Drugs, which was actually more of a "five and dime" store that had a small pharmacy. The owner, Oscar Clancy, had set up an area with armchairs, a couple sofas, and a coffee table where the women would knit and crotchet while they gossiped. Two other local landmarks were the towering white steeple of the First Congregational Church, and the two-story brick Burkee Hardware building, owned by John and Bonnie Burkee. Both were welcome visual contrasts to flat horizons filled with endless cornfields, and both had transformational roles in my life. The Burkee's attended First Congregational Church, as did nearly everyone in town, and were long-time friends with my parents. Mrs. Burkee often helped my mom with the church food pantry and my dad was a frequently found at the hardware store 'shooting-the-breeze' with Mr. Burkee. Nearly every Friday night, the two couples could be found playing Euchre at their house or ours. Mr. Burkee knew money was always tight for my parents and, when I was a Freshman in high school, suggested I help out at the hardware store on Saturdays. I readily accepted and he put me to work with basic tasks like loading customers' cars, sweeping floors, and taking out trash. Since I was only 14 at the time, Mrs. Burkee would pay me in cash at the end of each Saturday and usually send me home with a plate of cookies or some other treat for my family. As a couple without children of their own, I felt a bit like the son they never had. The hardware store was a natural fit for me. My family didn't have money to buy new things or hire repair technicians when something broke, so dad always fixed everything himself. He had a mechanical mind and was innovative with cost efficient solutions and repairs. I was always eager to watch him as a young child, and to participate in the repairs as I grew older. As grew into a young adult, my mind began to work like his, inquisitive and mechanical, and that translated into a lot of practical knowledge that was helpful at the hardware store. After a few months, Mr. Burkee asked if I would want to help stock shelves on weekdays after school. He gave a stern warning that I needed to keep my schoolwork and grades in order. School was to be my number one priority and if I didn't abide by that, working afternoons at the hardware store would end. He had no reason to worry and I eagerly accepted his offer. School came easy to me and I carried straight A's without much effort. What didn't come easy to me was social ease. I was a very introverted person and found social interactions awkward at best. I had a couple good buddies and did marginally well holding conversations with adults, but would stumble epically when even saying "hi" to a teenage girl. When I turned 16, Mr. and Mrs. Burkee promoted me to be a legitimate, on-the-books employee at Burkee Hardware and had me start interacting more with customers. I helped them find items in the store, answered general questions, and sometimes helped brainstorm on their projects. Mrs. Burkee taught me how to use the cash register and record store credit purchases for customers that were billed monthly. I didn't recognize it until years later, but the trust Mr. and Mrs. Burkee gave me in those early years allowed me to find trust in myself. I was confident in my knowledge and that gave me courage in my interactions with customers. That also spread to other aspects of my life and I found it easier to have more meaningful conversations with friends or adults at church. Girls were still a different story. I had zero confidence in that area and remained painfully awkward to the point of social paralysis. It was as if I was on the outside of a glass bubble looking into the real world. There were a few girls at school and at church that I found attractive and interesting, but I lacked the ability to break through that glass wall. Accepting failure in that part of my life, I poured my energies into school, church activities, and the hardware store. I became more involved at church where I took on a bigger role in helping my mom with the food pantry, joined a Wednesday evening Bible Study group, and grew much deeper in my personal relationship with God. Those things certainly didn't solve my awkwardness with girls, but they at least kept my mind from constantly dwelling on the subject. BECOMING A MAN. By the time my Senior year arrived, I was a well engrained fixture at church and the hardware store. The Burkee's trusted me implicitly and often left me to run the store or lock up at night when they had other commitments. Over the Christmas and New Year's holidays, they even took their first vacation in 20-years, a 10-day Caribbean cruise, and left me to manage the store. During that year, I began to think about life after high school. The hardware store was very comfortable for me and I loved every minute of it, but I also knew it would be difficult to support myself, and hopefully a future family, on a store clerk's wages. My mechanical mind dreamed of an engineering degree and a career designing complex industrial innovations. The spiritual side of me dreamed of a life in ministry leading people to Jesus, though that wasn't exactly a high-paying appointment either. The problem with both options was money. My parents had managed to squirrel away a very small college fund over the years but, in reality, the vast majority of college expenses would need to be covered by scholarships and loans. Understanding the potential magnitude of college debt made a non-degreed life at the hardware store look more and more attractive. Mrs. Burkee had taken a keen interest in what I intended to do after graduation and there were occasional slow evenings at the hardware store when she would sit and listen to all the conflicting thoughts rattling around in my head. Every time she would give the same advice, to keep my options open, pursue all opportunities until a decision became clear, and keep praying for God's guidance. I took her advice to heart and explored various community colleges and universities, both those with engineering programs and those with ministry fields. I found a few Christian colleges that had well regarded engineering programs, which would give me the perfect opportunity to pursue both of my dreams simultaneously. However, the schools were private and their tuitions rates were astronomical. My "top-pick" school, Powell College, was located in a small town of the same name and was especially pricey. Mrs. Burkee continued her previous advice and insisted I apply to as many schools as possible to keep my options open. She backed up her determination by insisting that she and Mr. Burkee pay for all the application fees. How could I argue with that? Meanwhile, graduation was a couple months away and the entire town was abuzz about the upcoming Senior Prom. I had never attended a school dance and had no intention of attending Senior Prom. My mom disagreed, arguing it was a rite-of-passage and that I would regret it for the rest of my life. She wouldn't accept no for answer and said she would make arrangements for me to take her coworker's daughter, Bridget, to Prom. I continued protesting and told her that I could find my own date, but I didn't want to go to any high school dance, Prom or otherwise. However, mom was relentless and I eventually resigned myself to the fact I wasn't going to win the argument. My statement about finding my own date was a partial truth. Thanks to family genes, I was a fairly good-looking guy and occasionally drew the interest of girls around my age. Moving and lifting of heavy items at the hardware store had slowly evolved my body from that of a scrawny child into a muscular, well-defined 6'-3" young man with softly chiseled facial features. Unfortunately, any female attention I received because of my physical appearance was quickly repelled by my awkward and unconfident nature. Prom was an absolute disaster. Set-up dates are awkward under any circumstances, but Bridget was very shy and just as socially backward as me. We were simply a bad combination and spent the first part of the night standing off to the side of the dance floor fidgeting nervously and trying not to make eye contact with each other. Eventually, I worked up the courage to ask her to dance when the band began playing a slow ballad. She reluctantly accepted. We slowly shuffled around in circles, clumsily looking for appropriate hand placements and keeping plenty of distance between our bodies. Thankfully, our respective friends rescued us shortly after the song ended and we amicably parted ways. RECRUITED. Envelopes with college and university logos began appearing in the family mailbox about a month before graduation. I had a perfect GPA, so it wasn't a surprise that they were all letters of acceptance. However, what I didn't expect was that most of them also included offers of significant scholarships and financial aid. I was ecstatic to learn Powell College offered an 80% no-repayment scholarship, which made my "top-pick" school a realistic possibility. I excitedly told my parents then immediately raced over to the hardware store to tell Mrs. Burkee. A few days later, I closed the hardware store and went home to find the Burkee's and my parents playing their regular Friday night Euchre game at the kitchen table. They all greeted me as I walked in the house and, with a strange look on his face, my dad said somewhat ominously, "Sit down son, Mr. & Mrs. Burkee would like to talk to you about something." I nervously pulled up a chair and waited patiently while they finished the last couple tricks of the hand. Mom updated the score and dad started reshuffling the cards while Mr. Burkee spoke. "Mike, you did a great job managing the store while we were on the cruise last winter and, well, we really enjoyed the time away. I have a proposition for you." I listened intently as he continued, "We would like to go on an extended vacation this summer. Go out west to the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, Mt. Rushmore; maybe even try our luck in Vegas. We haven't planned it out yet so we're not sure how long we'll be gone, but I'm guessing 3 or 4 weeks for a road trip like that. So; We would like you to manage the store while we're away." I was more than happy to do so and started to respond, but Mrs. Burkee cut me off before I got any words out, "However, you won't receive your normal hourly wage while we're gone;” I looked at her quizzically and waited for her to continue after a faux dramatic pause, "Instead, John and I will pay the 20% of Powell's tuition that the scholarship doesn't cover, and also help you out with books and course fees." I was quickly doing calculations in my head. Their proposal was easily worth 4 times what I would earn at my normal gross hourly rate, not even considering taxes. I sat speechless with a stunned look on my face. Here was the answer to my prayers. God had provided. Mrs. Burkee excitedly continued, "I know you really want to go to Powell. You're an amazing young man and we want you to follow your dreams." Mr. Burkee echoed her thoughts and added, "You've worked your tail off for 4 years, more so than we could ask of any employee. This isn't a gift. You've earned it." I looked over at my parents. My mom was beaming and my dad had a 'gotcha' look on his face. Apparently, he thought it was funny to bait me at the beginning of the conversation. I slowly responded, "I; I don't know what to say. That's very generous." I think Mrs. Burkee was even more excited than me and blurted out, "Just say yes!" So, I did. CAP & GOWN. High school graduation and the following summer went by in a blur. Amid preparing to move away to Powell, I also managed to keep attending my weekly Bible study and maintain status quo at the hardware store while Mr. & Mrs. Burkee were on vacation. Before I knew it, I was loading up my car and saying heartfelt goodbyes to all my friends and family, and especially to the Burkee's for all they had done over the past years. After arriving at Powell, I quickly settled into my dorm room on the first day, then spent the second day on campus searching for a job. Despite my tuition being 100% covered, I still needed to pay for room & board and needed some spending money. Naturally, my first stop was the local downtown hardware store where I spoke briefly with the owner, a stern-looking man in his late 50s, Mr. Jacobs. He looked at me skeptically and gruffly asked if I had any experience. I modestly told him that I worked at the hardware store in my hometown. He asked for a contact person, which I gave, and he said he would get back to me. I spent the rest of the day applying for jobs anywhere that had a posting, though I needn't have. Mr. Jacobs called me first thing the next morning to say he talked to Mr. Burkee, and I was hired. HIGHER ED. I settled into a routine of classes and work over the next few weeks. My inquisitive mind yearned for new knowledge from both sources and I soaked it up like a sponge. The coursework was more challenging and took more effort than in high school, but was still manageable and left adequate time for about 20 hours a week at the hardware store. Between the hardware store paycheck, some help from my parents, and a moderate size student loan, I would be able to cover the cost of room & board and my general living expenses. Once again, God provided. During those first few weeks, I also began attending Faith Bible Church, which was located a couple blocks from the hardware store. It was a typical church in many ways, but also had a large college-age ministry given its proximity to Powell's campus. They had a worship service on Sunday morning and a variety of study and support groups throughout the week, including a 'young adult' (a.k.a. college student) study group on Wednesday evenings that they called Next Gen, just NG for short. Due to my schedule at the hardware store, it was a few weeks into school before I could attend my first Wednesday NG study. I followed signs through the church building into a large lounge area furnished like an oversized but cozy living room, complete with an artificial electric fireplace. I would guess there were about 40-50 students socializing in informal clusters around the room. I recognized a couple students from my engineering classes and decided they would be my safest point of entry into this new group. My eyes casually scanned the room looking for other familiar faces as I purposefully walked toward my engineering classmates, that is until I plowed into someone. My hands instinctively reached out to steady whoever I just clobbered and grasped the shoulders of an extremely petite girl. I looked down to see a bob of strawberry-blond hair face-planted into the lower portion of my chest. Socially horrified, I quickly stepped backward and squeaked out a timid, "Sorry. Are you ok?" The girl's head tilted upward to reveal pure beauty with amazing blue eyes and a welcoming smile. Ignoring my question and the clumsy circumstance, she cheerily thrust her hand out to shake mine, "I'm Emily! Emily Fulton. I haven't seen you here before so I was just coming to say hello." A pang of nervousness clenched my stomach as her delicate hand came to rest in my big mitt "Hi, I'm Michael; er; Mike." "Nice to meet you Michael," she said emphasizing my formal name, then warmly continued, "I saw you at worship service the last couple Sundays, but you left before I could catch you." I stood with Emily's soft hand in mine, frozen in an awkward conversational pause and unable to formulate an intelligent response. Again, she ignored my ineptness and continued, "I'm glad you came to NG tonight! I'm a Freshman at Powell, but I grew up in this church and already know most of the students here. Let me introduce you to some people." Her hand slipped from our handshake as she turned and began walking toward a group on the far side of the room. I followed behind, curiously observing Emily's petite form as her short legs took 2 energetic steps for every one of my lazy strides. While small, her 4'-11" body was perfectly proportioned, and her tastefully conservative attire gave an impression of style and elegance not exhibited by other students in the room. Tasteful white shorts highlighted subtly athletic legs and graceful hips, while a tailored pastel-blue sleeveless blouse accentuated her narrow waist and modest chest. Emily proceeded to introduce me to nearly everyone in the room before the study began, skillfully prompting conversation and filling awkward pauses in a way that made me feel at ease. That continued into the Bible study as we sat in adjacent armchairs and she effortlessly integrated me into the group discussions. As the study ended and people began to informally mingle again, Emily turned toward me in her chair with a genuine smile, "I'm really glad you came tonight. Will I see you Sunday morning?" The inquiry was rote social courtesy for most people, but Emily's smile and voice radiated true sincerity that meant much more than the face value of the words. The genuine kindness caught me a bit off guard and I stumbled a response, "Ye; yes, I'll be here Sunday." She enthusiastically replied, "Great! I'll see you then!" and moved to join a group of her friends across the room. SCHOOL WORK. Over the following weeks, I fell into a routine and became integrated into life at Powell, Faith Bible, and Jacobs Hardware. Classes were going well, and the hardware store atmosphere felt like a reunion with an old friend. Whatever tensions I had melted away when I entered through the old, creaky screen door on Main Street. At church, I began to build friendships with a few of the guys in NG and, on more Sundays and Wednesdays than not, Emily would initiate a few minutes of friendly conversation with me. Over the course of those brief chats, I learned she was an Early Childhood Education major, her dad was a tenured seminary professor at Powell, she was a cheerleader and president of the quiz bowl team in high school, and; she always dressed impeccably. In turn, I told her about my

How Chloe Finally Got Some: Part 2

HOW CHLOE FINALLY GOT SOME: PART 2 CHLOE GOES BAT-SHIT CRAZY, THEN RESORTS TO STALKING. Based on a post by oldtruckdriver [https://www.literotica.com/authors/oldtruckdriver/works/stories]. Listen to the ►Podcast [https://archive.org/download/spring-erotic-stories/HowChloeFinallyGotSome2.mp3] at Steamy Stories [https://feeds.feedburner.com/steamy-stories]. [https://archive.org/download/spring-erotic-stories/HowChloeFinallyGotSome2.jpg] Chloe hopped out of bed and went to grab the drinks. On the way to the kitchen she thought not only had she not had Dave use a condom but she had him in her apartment. Both of those were pretty high on her list of things not to do. Her well-fucked cunt was leaking a long stream of juice down past her knees, by the time she had refreshments dished up. When she came back with the beverages she also had a bowl full of red and green grapes. They sat cross legged on the bed and ate the grapes and re-hydrated. "When we first got in the apartment you said you were horny and would explain later. "I guess I did. Well, it started last night" Chloe took a good part of an hour detailing the long string of bad luck and fluke circumstances from her 2 days of cock trolling. By the time she was finished he was rolling on the bed laughing. "Wow!" he exclaimed; "and I thought I had a fucked up night." She was flat on her back, laughing right along with him and said, "The only reason I can laugh about it is because of your failed attempt at mugging me. The night has turned out so much better than I thought it was going to, that's for sure. My craving for a good cunt-pounding was driving me nuts, but it was so thoroughly rewarded by finding and seducing you, Sir David.” He got up on his knees next to her and looking down said, "And it doesn't look like it's over yet." Referring to the turgid flag pole extended over her lovely tit. "Well look who decided to join us.” She turned her head and kissed the red bulbous head. “Let's get him wrapped up shall we?" she asked reaching into her nightstand for a condom. The sex was very good. He was a considerate lover and induced her huge orgasm; and then brought her along for an even bigger one, when he climaxed. When he pulled out, she peeled off the condom and dropped in into the bedside wastebasket. He pulled her over until she was lying with an arm and a leg draped over him. "That was very nice," Dave said, "Do you mind if I take a little nap? When I wake up I'll slip out." "First of all," she said grabbing her phone, "put your number in this. I'll give you a few days to get a new phone and I'll call you." She looked at him for a moment and thought to herself, well I've broken two of my rules tonight, why not a third. "I wouldn't mind if you stayed the night. Tomorrow's Sunday, we could go for brunch somewhere." She found she was holding her breath waiting for his reply. This was her bravest and most insecure moment of taking initiative and risk. "Much as I would love that, I have to get home early, to get Sharon to church." Chloe reeled back from him, then put both her feet into his ribs and pushed. She couldn't knock him all the way out of bed but he got the hint and scrambled out the far side. "You miserable son of a bitch, get the hell out." "Let me explain," he begged. "Go choke your own chicken, bastard," she yelled pointing toward the door. He quickly dressed and left the bedroom. She followed him naked to the front door. He fumbled with the three locks on her door and she shoved him out of the way, got them unlocked and jerked the door open. He was half way through the door when he stopped. No; by god, once tonight was enough. He stepped back into her apartment and pulling the door out of her hand, gently closed and locked it. "What the hell do you think you're doing? I'm calling the police," she yelled. If anything her volume had increased. Very firm and reasonably he said, "No, no you're not. You are going to sit down while I explain a few things to you." "I am not interested in anything you might have to say." It was a classic Hallmark Movie scene of Chloe being the over-reacting dingbat chic, feeling insecure about giving her heart away, then impulsively assuming the worst in a decent guy. "Well Chloe," he began softly, "I think there are things you should be aware of so please sit down." Then he roared, "And shut the fuck up, for the love of God!" This startled Chloe so much she actually submitted to his strong male assertiveness. She shut up and looked at him. His face was a mask of anguish. She silently sank down onto her sofa. David disappeared down the hallway and soon reappeared with the comforter from her bed. He draped it around her and then sat down in the armchair. "I was already accused of a lot of things that weren't true, tonight. I gave up on that other bat-shit crazy chic, because she was not worth fighting for. You on the other hand, I think, are worth fighting for. So, from the top, I am not married and have no kids. My ex, Brittany, was compatible for a while, but eventually didn't like being married and feeling tied down. I met Brittany when we were in college. She was a foreign student, here on an academic visa. She was passionate about us and we married a week after completing our grad studies. That was 4 years ago. Two years ago she was granted citizenship. Three weeks later she took off. I haven't seen her since. A month after she left I got divorce papers. We had a prenup and she got nothing of mine. I work in the financial district, actually I'm in arbitrage, and make a ton of money. I just resumed dating a few months ago and tonight was the fourth date with bat shit crazy lady. Now, I don't owe you anything and you don't owe me anything. We just happened to meet each other and have the best night of my life. If I gave you a good time too, that's great. I repeat; I am not married and I am not in any type of relationship, with anyone. The only thing I can be rightly accused of is being a divorced man. I'm sorry, I didn't mention that as I was being dragged up here by my cock. I didn't think it was germane to the situation. The 'Sharon' I have to take to church is my German Shepard. The church is at the nursing home where my mom lived until she died. I used to take Sharon to see my mom, and the staff convinced me to keep bringing my dog in as pet therapy for the lonely residents who were my mother's last friends. Sunday is our day for that. Just after the residents have breakfast. Thank you for your time and patience." She sat there stunned while he got up and unlocked the door. He opened the door and have her a long sad look and was gone. She hung her head and started crying. She woke up the next morning in her bed, but did not remember moving from the sofa. She only left her bed that day to pee and toward evening heat a can of chicken noodle soup. She thought about David all day Monday. On Tuesday she started calling the number he had put in her phone. He had given her the right number but every time she called it went right to a full voicemail. On Friday she was still getting the same result. She spend the weekend outside the city, with her parents. She insisted they watch The Princess Bride and she cried through most of it. THE HUNT FOR HER DAVID. After trying a couple times Monday morning she had finally had enough. OK she thought to herself, you are in I T, you know how to run a search. So she started a search with the known facts. She had a first name, she knew he worked for a financial firm, he was in the arbitrage department. Her results showed 117 hits for Davids in arbitrage. How can that be she wondered. She had had to look up arbitrage to find out what it even dealt with. It sounded like a very tedious way to earn money. She started on her list and had phoned 30 Davids by the end of the day. Tuesday and Wednesday saw her at the end of her list with no hits. Then she thought maybe the firm David worked for didn't call that division arbitrage. She did a search of every financial institution in the area. This yielded 245 new Davids. It took her nearly two weeks to go through them all without finding her David. His phone now said the number was no longer in service. She gave up at this point and tried to forget him. She moped around at work until her boss finally called her in. He was a good guy and soon got her talking. He heard her out and then picked up his phone, searched for a number and dialed. "Hey Mike, Stu Cooke here, I need you to do a 50 mile radius search. White male, 25 to 30, brown and brown, 6 feet, medium build, first name David, probably find him in stocks, financial, banking. This is personal so quick like bunny, my friend. Thanks, see you at the Carlson's on Saturday, bye." Chloe said, "I already ran a similar search, I got nothing." "Yeah, but you don't have the resources Mike has. His company does FR searches. If this David has had his picture published anywhere, the facial recognition software will find him. Now get out of my office, I have work to do." She stood up and said, "Thanks Boss man, you're the best." The next afternoon she got an email from FR Database. There was an attachment with pics of 64 men. She slowly went through them and about halfway through, there he was: David Wheeler wearing a tux and smiling shyly. She clicked on his pic and the press release the photo was from came up. It was a charity ball to raise money for, naturally, Pet Therapy Project. He was there as a representative for a private banking company. She ran a search on David Wheeler and found he worked for a private investment bank. No wonder she hadn't found him. Then she searched divorce court records and got an address. If she remembered the building correctly each apartment went for 2-3 million bucks. Suddenly she wasn't so sure finding him was a good idea. She had a good job but he probably made twenty times what she did. Why would he be interested in her? Her next thought was, money does not buy happiness, and she had every right to look for that happiness. Then she thought to herself, a court of law would not call it looking for happiness, they would call it stalking. Chloe wondered how she could meet him in the right circumstances. She couldn't just show up on his doorstep. She probably couldn't get past the doorman. His work was out too, but she could wait outside his work and then follow him, er stalk him. What the hell was wrong with her? She had never acted this way with any other guy, not even crushes in high school. This guy is everything you Don't want in a man. He's probably a workaholic, he's rich, he lives in a penthouse, she would be just another trophy wife. Wife! Oh no, not wife, where did that come from? She didn't know if he would ever speak to her again let alone want to marry her. Marry! My God, I am going crazy, he's going to call me 'bat-shit crazy lady.' The biggest question was still why. Why was she obsessed with this guy? And that's all it was, right? an obsession? She had gone out with quite few guys, some of them she had even had short relationships with. Her list of guys she had fucked and forgotten was fairly long. Most people would indeed consider her a slut. So why, why this guy? The voice in her head, the one with the answers, was obstinately quiet. Now, here's the plan, she said to herself. I'm going to stand outside where he works and let him see me. If he wants to talk to me he will approach me. If he sees me and ignores me, I will walk away and never think of him again. She had gone in early the next morning so she could leave in time to be at David's workplace when he came out. She had dressed casually in jeans and tennis shoes. Who knew how long she would have to wait on hard concrete. No way she was going to do that in heels. She cabbed over and got out. For a moment she thought the cabby had made a mistake. The address she wanted didn't seem to exist. She walked to the end of the block and found a number on the building so she turned and walked past a high limestone block wall to the other end of the block. It was a nice restaurant with the address etched in the glass above the door. Apparently the address was also the name of the restaurant. It had to be here she thought, banks, even private ones had to have a way to get in, didn't they? Halfway down the block was a small door recessed into the limestone wall. It had no writing or numbers on it. Then she noticed a business card sized brass plate embedded in the wall. All it had was the name of the firm David worked for. Well, she thought, at least that part went right. Then she realized she could not just stand on the sidewalk for untold hours. She decided she would go back to the restaurant and ask for a seat by the window and watch for him. She had a 50 50 chance of his walking that way. Then she had another thought. What if the main entrance was actually in the back of the building. She crossed the street to see if she could see something behind the wall. From that perspective she could just see the roof line of what was maybe a three or four story building that looked more like a mansion than an office building. She turned and looked at the building on her side of the street. It was an office building that looked like it had windows that overlooked the street on every floor. She went in and found a tenant board. She picked a firm on the top floor just in case someone asked what she was doing wandering around. She rode the elevator to the eighth floor and turned left when she got off. Sure enough there was a large window in the foyer. She walked over and looked down on the target. She giggled out loud. Target indeed, here she was, a female Tom Cruise, gathering intelligence for her mission. Then she snorted and thought, well that's about as real a scenario as the rest of what she was doing. Her target was a Greek Revival style mansion in four stories with a three story wing on each side. It was set toward the rear of the property and there was a nice courtyard and garden covering the area all the way to the wall. It looked as if the front door only served as an entrance to the courtyard area. That must mean the main entrance is actually in the rear of the building. Having finished her surveillance she made her way back to the street. She turned right when she got to the street. She went to the corner and crossed and continued down to the alley. The alley had an ornate metal fence with a large gate that stood open. She walked through the gate and saw it was paved with cobblestones and in good repair. It was also very clean, much cleaner that the street outside the gate. It was somewhat narrow for perhaps 80 feet then opened up on the right. The rear of the mansion was on her left. In the opening on her right were spaces for about twenty cars. They were nose in against a brick wall. Names were painted on the wall above each space. And there, the fourth space, in was David Wheeler's name. She stopped and looked at the car and was not surprised that it was a gray Lexus GS 350. "Pardon me miss, may I help you?" a voice behind her asked. She turned and looked up at a nice looking man in a security uniform. He was smiling and polite but what he had really asked was, what the fuck do you think you're doing? She returned the smile and explained, "I was just using this as a shortcut, is that all right?" "Of course miss, it is a public thoroughfare. We do however, like to keep an eye on the personal property of our clients and associates. You understand I'm sure," he replied with the same get the hell out of here smile. "Naturally, I just had to stop and admire this gorgeous piece of machinery. It's a beauty isn't It." His smile was genuine this time, "That it is miss, that it is." She gave him another smile and continued on down the alley. Shit, now what are you going to Miss Cruise? There was no place on either end of the alley to wait. What was she going to do anyway, jump out in front of his car. Well, if he were going fast enough that might be a solution. She walked back to the main street and looked around. In the opposite direction from David's building was a coffee shop. A SIGHTING. She headed that way, a mocha latte couldn't hurt, it might even help. She sat at the counter that faced out onto the street. She wasn't really paying attention to what was happening around her. She just sipped at her latte feeling sorry for herself. She looked out the window and across the street saw a bistro, an office supply place, a gym and a bakery. Typical downtown fare, nothing worth noting. Even the people were typical. Women in business attire, shopkeepers, bicycle messengers in bike shorts with colorful shirts with helmets, men in suits. Some of them were sharper than others in their Armani or Brioni. David looked very sharp in his Brooks Brothers three piece. Wait, what? It was David! There he was striding down the street carrying a gym bag. When he reached the gym he produced a key card and went in. She dashed out and, not looking, was nearly run over by a cab. She blew off his honk and an insult in a language she did not understand. The door was long closed by the time she got there. No amount of tugging or banging with both fists produced any results. She gave up and went back to the coffee shop. The only thing that kept going through her head was, I saw my David, I saw my David. Then she shook her head violently. He's not your David, asshole. He's just a guy who will probably be terrified when you confront him. Well, she thought, my mom will probably bail me out of jail when he has me arrested. She sat clutching her purse so she could rush out when he exited the gym. She jumped every time the door opened. Finally it was him. He had changed to a polo shirt and khaki pants. He had his gym bag in one hand and his suit on a hanger over his other shoulder. She rushed out and stood at the curb and yelled his name. He turned in confusion then saw her. He stood there staring for what seemed like an hour to her, but was really only two seconds. His gym bag fell out of his hand and his expensive suit fluttered to the dirty sidewalk. He never took his eyes off her as he crossed the street. Cars in both direction slid to a halt. Somehow he made it unscathed to her side. He stopped in front of her and looked into her soul. REUNITED. "You," was the only thing he said before bringing her into his arms. They stood there crying on each other for a long time. Then he held her at arms length and just...looked. He snapped out of it and cried, "My suit!" He grabbed her hand and this time looked before leading her across the street. He picked up his things and looked around. "We need to talk and I need a drink. Maybe many drinks." They walked down a block to a bar called Harry's. He asked her, "Martini's?" "Dirty with two olives." He told the waiter, "A pitcher of martini's, dirty, and a bowl of olives, please." "How did you find me?" he started, "no wait, let me go first. The night I left your place I was devastated. I really liked you and had screwed it up completely. I just wandered around not paying attention to where I was. It started raining again and I didn't have a phone to call for a ride. I flagged down a cab and went home. I came back the next day to apologize and I couldn't find your house. Do you know how many brownstone's there are in that area? I knew it was within a block or so of bat shit crazy lady and I swear I knocked on every door and asked a lot of very suspicious and wary people if they knew where Corey lived." She interrupted him, "It's Chloe, C H L O E." "Oh," he said frowning, "I guess that would make a difference huh" "Anyway I had no last name, where you worked, nothing to help me find you." he took her hands and said, "I have been lost without you. I can't focus, I can't sleep, my boss calls me Zombie man. So how did you find me?" "Well, I had your phone number and I tried that for days. I couldn't get through and finally it went out of service." "Let me explain that. On Monday I went to my carrier to get a new phone. I asked if they would transfer everything to my new phone. She started to