Her Second Billionaire
Mike knew that there was absolutely no chance that she was going to answer his little chat outreach anytime within the next twenty-four hours. He knew that Dylan had a date with her last night, but hoping against hope and because he was an eternal optimist, he decided to log on while he was having his morning cup of coffee.
And just to see if maybe – just maybe – she might have answered him, even though it was now six minutes before seven in the morning. He figured she was still in Dylan’s bed, probably going on for round seven (knowing Dylan), and there wasn’t a chance in hell that she would…wait, what?
He stared at his phone where he’d logged into the app for the online dating site. Her little icon blinked rapidly – he’d subscribed to her and her avatar had suddenly turned green.
Oh, holy hell, no! he thought. Hell, yes! a different voice answered in his poor, addled brain. Enough with the ridiculous self doubts – he had to grab his chance now. She was logged on to the dating site early in the morning after a date with Dylan. This meant – oh, the implications stunned him. Made him smirk.
Mike took a swig of coffee and quickly tapped out:
Hi, there. Are you on right now?
She typed back,
I’m just drinking my coffee and getting ready for work and I logged in and saw your message, so hi!
Wait a minute. Back up for a second. So if she was at home drinking her coffee, then that meant Dylan had struck out. Ooh! Well that wasn’t quite what he wanted. He wanted Dylan to have some success but not to hit a home run. And so it looked like maybe he’d hit a single? A double?
The app stared at him, as if it were mortal. He quickly punched in:
Oh, good morning! Yeah, I’m not really functional without two or three cups of coffee myself
with a little grin icon.
See, now, this was the problem with trying to find the right women. He didn’t want to be the sloppy second that the women settled for. He wanted someone both he and Dylan could share, equally. When it came to their limited experience trying to find the right, single woman, Dylan had always been the front man and Mike had been the wingman. He was tired of being the wingman. Maybe it was time, really, for the best man to win. That comment to Dylan had most definitely not been just a joke – he’d been very, intensely serious.
And that man was stepping up to the plate now, ready for his turn at bat. Oh God, he was getting sick of the baseball metaphors.
The app beeped as she replied with:
So I see you’re like, Mr. Triathlon and ski dude, and my idea of exercise is walking across the room to get the remote.
Oh, man. She was chatting him up. There was a natural opportunity here and he – he couldn’t blow it. He couldn’t blow it. He sat there in his boxer briefs, typing away with one finger on his ridiculous smart phone interface and realized that the boxer briefs were getting awfully uncomfortable. Because as he typed, he stared at her little avatar with those sweet dimples, and that amazing, intelligent look on her face and decided that his body’s response was telling him pretty much all he needed to know.
He typed out something that sounded good on the surface, and then the second that he hit enter – augh! – he wanted to take it back.
lolol, yeah don’t be afraid, we could just go for a hike if you want.
Oh, I think I just asked you out.
Yeah I did.
and then he ended it with a question mark.
Shit, a hike? A hike? God, could that be any lamer? Why couldn’t you come up with something romantic? Beating himself up came naturally, and this time he had good cause – a hike? Dylan had taken him up on his advice and taken Laura out to the fancy Asian fusion place that so many of the women they had dated loved to go to but, then again, he could count “all of the women they dated” on one hand.
All of the women had also flatly and resoundingly rejected what they were offering, which was, he had to admit, pretty unique. However, settling for second best had left them both hollow and incomplete, and now they had an added complication. 2.2 billion of them, to be exact.
A hike, yeah, I’d like that. That sounds really cool.
The words sat on the screen like fairy dust, as if some unseen spirit had conjured them from a mystical layer in the universe and plopped them on Mike’s phone. Seriously? She said yes?
She liked the hike idea. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. He sucked down more coffee, the hot liquid helping to regenerate his brain cells, making him come alive and think think think to say the right answer.
Which was…? Smacking his forehead, he ran twitchy fingers through his hair, his palm grazing a day’s growth on his chin. Jesus. She was saying yes! The coffee felt like a pool of hot lead in his gut now as he raced to reply, typing out a response. OK, OK, breathe dude. Breathe, breathe, breathe. What could he say?
What could he say? Keep it simple. With a shaking finger, he wrote:
OK. So, how about this afternoon. After work? You wanna do lunch and then go for hike? I know a great spot in this State Park, a nice easy trail, it won’t be too hard on you.
He hit enter and then realized that that was probably one of the stupidest things he could have said, his fingers itching to find some magical “retract” button, a switch he could flip to withdraw his words from cyberspace.
She replied:
Sounds good. I’ll wear my hiking boots, don’t worry. I have feet, I can walk, I can use them, I can even move them independently while chewing gum.
And funny, too! He laughed and wrote back:
OK, phew, good to know. I like bipeds
and typed down his phone number. Laura sent hers back and he realized that he needed to say something, yet had no idea what to say because this was the first time that he had actually found a woman, on his own, without Dylan.
Yeah, yeah, yeah – technically Dylan had found her, but Dylan had no idea that he was independently pursuing her. The not-inconsequential fact that he had just essentially sniped her couldn’t be ignored, either.
Wow! He just stared at his smart phone, dumbfounded, willing his erection to go away but it wasn’t, and there was no hope that it was going to go away. He could tell as he just stared at the blinking cursor.
Finally she wrote back,
Hello, hello. Are you there, Mike?
Oh, Jesus. He startled as he realized he needed to respond, and quickly typed back,
Yeah, sorry. Not enough coffee yet. So, great, it’s a date? And thanks.
She wrote back a little smiley face, and he realize as he leaned back in the chair that he may have just made the biggest mistake of his life.
Had she really just made a date less than three hours after sneaking out of another guy’s bed? She opened up one of the seventeen texts from Josie which, as she scrolled through them, appeared to all be variations of “Please tell me about the hot guy.”
So she finally decided to put Josie out of her misery and typed out, “Hey. Awesome night. Will tell you the deets later“, hit “send” and almost instantly got back a response.
What do you mean later? Hell, no. I’m coming over.
She wrote back:
Can’t. I’m late for work as it is. Let’s just say I need a shower this morning.
and hit “Send”.
Squeeeee
was Josie’s reply.
Do you have another date?
Do I have another date? Oh, yeah, Josie, I have another date. It’s just not with the same guy. Ugh, how was she going to tell her this? She needed two showers. One to wash off Dylan and the other one to wash off her own skank.
This was getting ridiculous. She typed back:
There’s a lot to this. Will write more later. Come over after work.
She hit “Send” and turned her phone over, leaving Josie hanging, and padded into the shower. Indeed, it was time to wash off Dylan and her own… er… her own sense of ambiguity? Indecision? Disappointment?
Revelation? For she had learned so much these past few days, mostly about herself. In some ways, she was surprised to realize, it didn’t matter that Dylan was with someone else. In the past, that would have crushed her, but now – now she felt a renewed sense of power. Of strength. Stripping down and turning up the temperature on the shower’s spray, she felt her body melt into the hot water, the sting of the jets tearing her away from her looping thoughts, putting the focus back on her body. Rivulets of water streamed over her breasts, down her belly, with its gentle curves and lush skin, pooling at her V and sliding down her thighs, a familiar heat rushing into her womanhood.
It may have been only a few hours since she’d left his bed, but his mark really was on her. Closing her eyes, she remembered his touch and felt an incongruous sense of guilt. Guilt? He’s the one who had a girlfriend or wife. Yet here she was, scheduling a date with a stranger hours after having Dylan in her. On her. All over her.
The detachable shower head was about to earn its keep. She knew exactly where to aim it, her hands practiced when it came to masturbating. All her normal fantasies, though, weren’t cutting it – not the dream about Jake Gyllenhaal, or Matt Bomer, or even Zach Braff. Instead, her mind drifted to Dylan. And Mike.
As she parted her labia and zeroed the jet spray on her clit, she fought the image of Dylan. And Mike! Both? Yet nothing made it go away. Her body responded to the mere idea of it, of both of them at once, of four hands, two mouths, two cocks all focused on her. Laura. On her needs, on her pleasure, on her discovery. Ahhhhh…
This was crazy! She hadn’t even met Mike yet. Had crawled out of Dylan’s bed just a few hours ago, resolved never to see him again. Why was she letting them dominate her fantasies? She still had Dylan’s juices in her, his saliva dried on her, his kiss and skin and lips all – well, now that the water washed the night away, that wasn’t really true, but her neck tightened as her breasts swelled, her hands holding the shower spray in one hand, centered straight on her clit now, her other hand parting her labia and two fingers slowly entering her, the balance hard to achieve but easier as she propped one foot up on the edge of the tub and leaned back against the shower wall.
Her fingers encountered slightly sore flesh, her mouth spreading with an unexpected grin as she recognized why it hurt a bit, why the water’s sting was so bittersweet. Ah, Dylan – he had been thick and huge and gentle and rough all at once, knowing exactly how to press her skin, tweak her tight spots, play her body to perfect orgasm over and over with his tongue, his lips, his fingers, his hands, and that gorgeous, veined cock.
Now she had a face for her menage fantasies – Mike’s. Why not? Live a little, Laura. No one knew what went on in the privacy of her own mind, her own shower, and as she sighed deeply, the pressure of everything vanquished, she felt a familiar heat and bliss rise up in her as the water pulsed its way into her soul, her clit crying out for more, her fingers sliding in and out of her tight pussy not in a heated rush but, instead, slowly, stroking that spot on the top that always made her clench just a tad harder, made her breath hitch, made her imagine it was Mike’s fingers in her, Dylan’s tongue strumming her clit, both men eager and ready to enter her at once.