Jocko
When I wake, I reach for Jorja, but she isn’t in bed. Sitting up, I glance around for her clothes. Her heels and hose lay abandoned on the floor, and I drop back on the bed and stretch. I hear the toilet flush and reach for a pillow to prop my head up so I can fully enjoy the vision I’m about to see.
She opens the door slowly and peeks out. I can’t help the grin plastered on my face.
With her hair bound up in a towel, she walks to the bed. Her naked body's rosy red from a hot shower, but it’s her eyes and her smile that captivates me. She looks different.
I lift my hand, “Come here.”
Crawling to me, her tits dangling, I’m naturally tempted to cup them, but her eyes keep me focused. I touch her shoulder and trace my fingers down her arm. She gives me her hand, and I hold it. “Are you okay?”
She nods. “I've never been better.”
Leaning forward, she kisses me. I cup her face and let her tenderness reach those dark places I've hidden from the world.
When she lets my lips go, she stares into my eyes, tracing her fingertips along my lips, pulling my bottom lip out, and popping it. She smiles, “If I’m dreaming, please don’t wake me.”
I bring her hand to my lips, kissing the back, then flip it over to kiss the palm. She spreads her fingers and cinches our hands, then kisses them. She shakes the towel off and rolls into my embrace.
“Ditto.” I kiss the top of her head.
We lay content in silence. My thoughts go back to the first time I saw her and fell in love.
I was a sophomore, and she was a freshman. It was the first day of school, and I was sitting in the gym with my bros, cutting up, cackling at the freshman girls, giving the newbies nicknames that would stick the remainder of their lives. Some were brutal, some were funny, but none were nice.
Then Jorja walked in. Her long hair was curled and bounced. Her bangs pulled into a ponytail. Her body was built like a brick shit house.
She was wearing a red ribbed sweater tank top with a choker collar that accentuated her curves. Her tits were full, but not excessive. She had on a pair of skinny jeans with heels. Her legs were long, her thighs curvy, and her ass was perfectly proportional. The guys gave her all sorts of appropriate names, like Ten for the Win and Dick Flick, but I was quiet. Actually, I was speechless. Surprised that just looking at her made me feel good inside.
She passed by totally ignoring us, but I continued to stare at her climbing the bleachers, daintily threading the crowd, being polite. It wasn’t until she sat down that she looked at our group, and our eyes connected. At that moment, time stood still, and I knew she was going to be mine.
One of the guys, I don’t remember who now, ribbed me and asked. “So, what are we going to call her?”
I grinned at him. “I’m calling, ‘Dibs.’”
“Fuck!” He whined, “That's not what I meant.”
“But that’s what it is.”
The others complained, but I just stared at her, amazed that a girl could evoke such an emotional reaction.
Two hours later, I was pulled from class and told my parents had been killed in an auto accident, and everything changed.
She looks at me. “When did you know?”
I grin, “I was just remembering when.”
She flips over, expectantly. Her eyes are shining.
“When didyouknow?” I tease her, knowing she wants me to go first but making her confess before I do.
“I think I knew the first time I saw you.” She lays her head on my chest, and absentmindedly runs her fingertips over my skin. Circling my trident scar, she asks, “What happened here?”
“That's from my Budweiser.”
“A Budweiser gave you a scar?”
“Not the beer. That's what we call our trident.”
