Judy whipped out one of her own cards and slipped it into the chip reader. “Yes, it’s a lot to spend on clothes, Andy, but you’re rebuilding your entire wardrobe from scratch, not just buying a garment or two to replace a few you’ve lost to wear and tear. You need this, and now.”
“This is very generous,” I informed her, relieved that my finances had dodged what would have been a very painful bullet, and shocked and overwhelmed that she would do this for me.
“Before you protest, consider this a job-warming gift.”
((She cares about me. She’s already made that clear, but, damn, this is an extreme amount of money to spend on somebody you’ve only known for a couple days. But if she wants to express how much she likes me by buying me lots of nice things…)) “I’m not protesting. I don’t have a lot of pride, so if you want to buy me anything, I’ll gratefully and gleefully accept. Thank you.”
“Really? You insisted on paying for lunch.”
“I wasn’t doing you a favor, I was just flaunting my future ‘riches’. And I hadn’t found out yet that you make quadruple what I was making at my old job. If you want to pay for my meals, too, I will never object. If anything, I strongly encourage it.”
She smiled. “Good. I intend to feed you, and frequently.”
She entered her PIN and handed me the receipt, and suddenly we were off to Matteo’s.
“Are you feeling confident?” she asked once Banana Shark was in motion.
“I’ve never felt more confident. Which isn’t saying much, so I’ll add that I never imagined I could feel like this. Having nice clothes feels so good.”
“I’m happy for you.” ((Throughout the short time I’ve known you, my happiness seems to have been the one thing you desire most.)) But I didn’t tell her that, because it felt reductive, it felt like I was breaking her down into a single dimension—me. So I realized, having felt her kindness and generosity, that despite my self-loathing, I had for a long time only truly cared about one person, as evidenced by my insistence on solitude when people invited me to functions I would rather avoid. Maybe they didn’t care who I was, maybe I was just one more guest to fill the room, but they still wanted me to be there. 5 and 10 and 20 year celebrations, retirement parties, Thanksgiving potlucks, Secret Santa gatherings… I avoided them, I avoided the people who went to them, and if even a shred of me believed that people might enjoy being around me, then maybe by being so avoidant I was doing everybody else a disservice. ((The other people in my life have no love for me, but they certainly want me to show my face. Maybe they like how I look. Maybe I’m eye candy for the other attendees. Maybe I have something to say that they’ll find interesting. Maybe my presence can be pleasant. Maybe people can like me. Maybe other people will like me, the way Judy does. And she likes me in so many ways!))
I searched for and quickly found another dimension to her happiness. “Knowing that you’re happy to see me happy… makes me feel… worthwhile. You’ve made me feel worthwhile. Made me realize… I am worthwhile.”
“Aww. That makes me feel happy… but sad. Sad that you’ve been suffering for so long, but happy that I’ve been able to do something about it. Bittersweet… but more sweet than bitter.”
This, too, affected me, but I didn’t want to make things awkward. “I would respond with how happy hearing that makes me feel, but that might come across as masturbatory.”
She laughed softly. “Yeah, that’s veering into mutual masturbation. Which I’m not doing, but—we could pull over and give me jerking you off a try.”
“Wait, what?”
“Unless you want me to do it while you’re driving, but that can be a little dangerous…” I glanced at her to see if she was being serious—her mischievous grin led me to think that she might have been bluffing.
“I’d rather not take that risk, thank you.”
“Then pull over.”
I swallowed. “We’re in public, someone will see us…”
“Isn’t the possibility of someone knocking on the car door while my fist is up your pussy exciting?”
My heart skipped a beat, and my vagina clenched her imaginary fist. I eyed her again. “Well…”
“Have you ever imagined it?”
“No… I haven’t considered… it.”
We stopped at a red light. “Humor me.”
“Alright…” I closed my eyes. {You make your move, unbuttoning my shirt and sticking your hand up my bra. I gasp. You undo my pants next—slowly, forcing me to endure my anticipation—and right as you slip that hand down my panties, a man walks up and knocks on the window—I yelp quietly, and you quickly cover my mouth—but you don’t stop twiddling my clit. The lights are off, and we’re parked under a streetlamp—the reflection of the lamp casts a glare, hiding us from bystanders. I pray that he can’t hear me moaning like the whore that I am. He knocks again; if he could see inside, he’d witness my heart leaping out of my chest. You move your hand from my clitoris to my dripping cunt, and my moans become louder. He knocks a third time, and my pulse triples. Then… he tents his hands and holds them up against the window—to block the lamp’s glare—and brings his face up to the glass. I cringe, fearful that we’ve been discovered… but he shakes his head and resumes his walk. You double up your efforts to make me cum and before long I—}
“Andy!” I came-to amid angry honking. “The light’s been green for like five seconds!” I gunned it across the intersection, just in time for the light to turn yellow behind us; I quickly realized I was going 5 over, so I gently nudged the brakes to gradually bring us down to the limit. “You were distracted by something, my girl… Care to share?”
I turned onto Main Street, which had the brightest streetlamps in the city, and parked beneath one.
“Andy… why are we stopped?”
“You haven’t figured it out?” She shook her head. “Because you planted an idea in my head and I need to see it through.”
“What ide—(ohhh.) Oh-ho-ho! Were you actually fantasizing about us fucking in the car just now?”
“I have a very active imagination. And you know which buttons to press to turn it on.”
“Or to turn you on.”
I exhaled. “Both.”
“So what happened in this fantasy?”
“You… unbuttoned my shirt and slipped your—” She began unbuttoning my shirt. I felt a rush of heat below. “—and—and—slipped your hand under my bra…” I waited for her to gently pinch my nipple before continuing, “(…hah…) And… then you… undid my… (mhh…) pants…” She unbuttoned and unzipped me. “…and you… you can guess what came next.”
“Say it.” She played with the waistband of my panties.
“You put your hand down my panties… and stuck your finger up my pussy.” She pushed aside the waistband, and I held my breath until she inserted her finger, and moaned as she found the spot. “Ahh… Yeah…”
“Most of the women I’ve met get more out of clitoral stimulation than out of vaginal—”
“(Just fuck me so we can get going before someone catches us.)” She doubled her pressure on that sweet spot; I covered my mouth to smother my rather loud moaning.
“What happened next?”
“Just—(ahh)—a second—(hah)—can we just—(ahh)—do this for a—(mmh)—while?”
“Alright.” She continued playing with my insides, gradually driving me crazier and crazier with each stroke; eventually my voice may have grown loud enough to be audible outside the car, at which point she asked, “Tell me what came after that.”
“A man—(mhh)—found the car. And—(hah)—knocked on the window.”
“Oh? Did he see us?”
“I parked us under a—(hmm)—streetlamp for a reason. Oh—God, yes, keep doing that…”
“He couldn’t see past the glare, so he left,” she gathered.
“He—(ah)—knocked again. And again. And—then he—oh God, I’m getting close.” She backed off on the intensity of her fingering. “Don’t—don’t slow down!”
“I want to hear the end of it before I finish you off.”
I rushed through the rest of the story. “He blocked the light with—(mmh)—his hands and looked inside, but he—(ahh)—couldn’t see anything because the engine—(ahm—and all the lights—were off so he left-please-finish-me-off.)”
“Interesting. You had the foresight to turn off the car in your fantasy, but you neglected to do so in reality.”
My eyes grew a couple sizes; I reached for the light switch and ignition only for her to start on my clitoris with her other hand and resume fingering my pussy at full strength. My will faltered, and turning off the engine and lights became my lowest priority. The dome light lured me in with its gentle illumination, and when I arrived I basked lazily in the warmth of her touch and its soft glow.
I was oblivious to onlookers, voyeurs, and audience members. She had imprisoned me in paradise, where I waited contentedly for the rapture that would liberate me, a rapture that came ever closer with each moment, heralding itself with the fanfare of my rising vocalizations, until I was deaf from my own throat sounds and then suddenly my voice was quiet as I cried out and I was torn to shreds by my deliverance into a new reality—