One Date, One Man, Never Twice: My Rule After the Divorce novel · Chapter 5 of 24

Chapter 5: Opening Day

The Pirates were down three in the fifth with the sound off.

My hand was inside the front of the roofer's jeans.

"Hold on," he said, laughing, and shifted on the couch cushion. "It's the home opener."

"I know what day it is."

"I'm just saying I've had tickets to this for six years."

"And yet here you are," I said, and squeezed.

He stopped talking.

He was twenty-four and white, from Beechview, with a sunburned neck in April and a roofer's shoulders.

His hands were the biggest I had ever seen on a man, broad and scarred, with black tar worked into the creases of the nails.

They were clamped on the arm of the couch.

The living room smelled of laundry and a candle from a gas station.

A silent television threw blue light across the floor.

A pitcher on it wound up and threw a ball nobody heard.

"You can look at me instead," I said.

"I'm not complaining. I'm trying to be polite."

"Be polite with your pants off."

He lifted his hips, and I dragged his jeans down.

He was already hard, and long, with a vein along the side.

I wrapped my hand around him and stroked, slowly, and watched his head go back against the cushion.

"Oh, man," he said.

I leaned over and took the tip of him in my mouth.

He swore and grabbed a fistful of the couch blanket, and I tasted salt and heat and flannel soap.

I worked him down, slow, and back up, and swirled my tongue under the head.

His hips jerked.

"Hey," he said, hoarse. "Hey, I'm going to..."

I let him go with a wet sound.

"Not yet. I have plans for you."

"You have plans," he said.

"I brought something."

I reached into my purse on the floor and took out a small silver bullet the size of a lipstick.

I held it up between two fingers.

He stared at it.

"Is that..."

"Mine. I brought it from home."

I had bought it six years ago, from a catalog, for a husband who never once asked what it was for.

It had lived at the bottom of a drawer under the good scarves.

Now it was in a stranger's living room, and I felt completely clear.

"I'm going to use it on myself," I said. "While I ride you. You're going to keep your hands where I put them."

"Where do you want them?"

"On my hips."

"Yeah," he said. "Okay. Yeah."

I stood up, and took my dress off over my head, and stepped out of my underwear, and let him look.

The blue TV light slid over me.

His mouth had fallen open.

"Don't say anything," I said. "Just look."

He looked.

I turned around, with my back to him, and my face to the screen.

Then I lowered myself onto his lap, onto the thick hot length of him, with one hand wrapped around him, and I guided him in.

I came down slowly.

I felt him enter me, stretch me, stop at the end of me, and I gasped.

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