9781618859617TheSecretLifeofanInvisibleGirlDeVere (2 page)

In my dream a woman, who looked like me, stood naked in
front of a full-length mirror brushing her golden hair. I could only see what
was reflected in the mirror. The room was dark and warm—the windows open with
the sound of night creatures and crickets filtering through. The moonlight
shone against the mirror, lighting the woman in an eerie glow. A man, who
looked like John Hawkins, appeared behind her dressed in a shirt and pants. Gliding
his hand down the length of her back, he watched her in the mirror. He swept
her hair aside and leaned over to nuzzle her neck, trailing kisses on her
smooth shoulders and cupped one hand over her breast. His other hand skimmed
down over her stomach through the hair on her mound, lingering there until he
pushed a finger into her slit. She moaned and swayed back against him.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered.

She turned to face him, their profiles reflected in the
mirror. “I want you,” she said and brought her mouth to his. He licked the edge
of her parted lips with the tip of his tongue, before the kiss deepened, and his
tongue thrust into her mouth. Dropping the hairbrush, she unbuttoned his shirt
and peeled it off him. She ran her hands over his taut chest, licking and sucking
his nipples while he stroked her hair, back, and buttocks, his hands roaming,
exploring her. Yanking him closer to her by his belt, she unbuckled it, undid
his pants and brought them down to his feet, kneeling in front of him. His
underwear followed, her fingers tearing them down from his hips, releasing a
long thick cock jutting out from a ring of dark curls.

Staring into his eyes, she lightly churned the base of his
cock, and he placed an encouraging hand on her head. With her other hand, she
fondled his balls before licking up the shaft to the head. Taking the tip of
his cock into her mouth, she swirled her tongue around the swollen head and rim
until he moaned. She nibbled back to his balls, then gliding her mouth over the
length, licked her way again to the head, pushing her tongue into the small
opening to reach the salty-sweet portent of his discharge. Swallowing the head,
she drenched it with her saliva before taking his cock deep into her throat. Back
along the length of it she sucked, clasping her lips firmly around his shaft,
and he pumped gently into her mouth. Continuing her ministrations, she licked,
nibbled, and sucked until he groaned. Pulling back she let her teeth graze
lightly against the shaft and head, stopping to lift her eyes to his.

“Do you want to come in my mouth or in my cunt?” she asked.

“I want to fuck you.”

Caressing his cock, she rose and lay back on the edge of
the bed, spreading her legs, her moistened cunt reflecting in the mirror. In
place between her legs, he rubbed his cock over her slit, catching the head
against her clit until she gasped and clutched the bed coverings. Directing his
cock to her swollen opening, he eased into her like the tide pushing against
the shore. Penetrating through the folds until he was buried deep within and
their hairs met. She sighed, and he lifted her legs over his elbows, driving
into her with slow deep strokes. Arching her back from the bed, she rose to meet
him with sighs and moans. He slammed into her, in and out, faster and faster. Reaching
down between her legs, he rubbed her clit with his thumb. His pumping increased,
and he spent his seed within her with sharp deep thrusts. As her orgasm overcame
her, she screamed. Her scream combined with the screeching wheels of the train
at the end of the line, and I woke.

* * * *

For the next week I was useless, worse than useless, and
destructive. Wanting a man in general was by far easier to deal with than wanting
a man in particular. I was stuck in that torture of self-inflicted elation and
despair, shifting from fantasy to reality and back again. I was giddy with
incompetence. I tried to convince myself I had not lost my mind, and it would
take an apocalypse to drag me back to that den of demons and now temptation that
comprised the DA’s office.

Even in my useless state, my boss wanted me to attend the
hearing. We walked into the courtroom and over to the defense table in front of
the judge’s bench. John Hawkins was still assigned to the case. He stood behind
the prosecutor’s table, turned when we came in, and smiled. My heart beat
faster, a presto tempo pulsing in my ears. My palms got sweaty, I blushed, my
nipples hardened, and I felt a pulling in my groin. My body deserted me
utterly, running off in wild excitement while I tried to maintain composure. I
had not seen him for a week and thought the separation would make seeing him
again easier. It only made it worse, much worse.

My boss looked through our file. “Could you get copies of
the drug certificates from the DA?” He may as well have asked me to get a
handful of fire from hell. I walked over to the prosecutor’s table and steeled
myself for battle. DAs were notorious for getting drug certificates in late. It
wasn’t their fault. The crime lab was always backed up and with recent budget
cuts, the delays were worse than they had ever been. The DAs took the blame
anyway. They were responsible for the Commonwealth’s case.

“Do you have the copies of the drug certificates?” I asked,
stern and serious, all business.

“I think I saw them in here.” He smiled and started leafing
through his files.

I watched him handle the papers, long slender fingers
pinching the corners of the pages. The lips of my cunt swelled, and I had to
look away.

“How have you been?” he asked, concentrating on his task.

“I’ve been better.”

He stopped and looked at me in a way that made me suspect
he could read my mind. I smiled in self-defense and in the next moment
surrender.

“I haven’t forgotten,” he said, his own smile lighting up
his face.

“Drug…certificates.” I pointed to the file.

“Right.” He returned to his search, but could not find
them. The result was a one-month continuance of the case. The world was
conspiring against me.

The next day he called me at the office. The secretary had
identified the caller only as someone from the DA’s office, and I thought it
was a routine scheduling issue. When I heard his voice, I nearly dropped the
phone.

“Don’t mean to bother you at work,” he said, “but I want to
see you, and this is the only way I can reach you.” I gave him my phone number
and told him to call me at home.

That night I changed into my pajamas and stared at the
phone, willing it to ring. I was alone with no one to witness or criticize my
pathetic display of hope and desire. While I tried to concentrate on
The Reminiscences of Rufus Choate
, a dry
but entertaining memoir of the 19th-Century lawyer and orator, he called just
after nine.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

I should have been prepared for the question, but I wasn’t.
I had to either admit I was reading and sound like the nerd I was or that I was
waiting for him to call. I was not going to tell him the latter and sound needy
and desperate. A girl has to keep some illusion of self-respect.

“I’m reading.”

“What are you reading?”

“Nothing as interesting as you.”

“What are you wearing?” he asked, the finest four words in
the English language, the precursor of pleasure.

His voice, an invitation and a challenge, made me wet. I
nearly came right then and there sitting on the couch. His question didn’t
shock me, but his ease and accuracy in reading my desire did. My cunt throbbed,
my nipples hardened, and I gasped.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Ye-yeah…wearing?” I stammered. “Silky pajamas and no underwear.”
I slid my hand down my stomach under the loose waistband of my bottoms to my
slit and burned my fingers in the hot lava flowing from my core.

“Wish I was there. Will you do what I tell you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I whispered. I wanted to resist, but my will was
weak, and his voice was soft and sultry.

“Are you wet?”

“I got wet the moment I heard your voice.”

“God, you are hot. Do you have ice cubes?”

“What?” I asked startled, but tried to maintain the mood. I
have to admit he lost me a bit there. “Ice cubes? Yeah.”

“I want you to take two ice cubes, roll them around your
nipples, and let them melt. Let the water run down over your stomach and
between your legs.”

“Hold on.” I put down the phone. I was skeptical. This did
not seem like an entirely good idea, but I walked over to the refrigerator. At
least it would cool me down. After removing my pajama top, I took out two ice
cubes from the tray and put them against my hard nipples. The ice started to
melt on contact. The shock of numbing cold sent a shiver coursing through me
followed by deep intense arousal and heightened sensory awareness. In other
words—“Holy fucking shit, why haven’t I ever done this before?”

Trembling, I picked up the phone. “Oh my god, that’s
incredible.”

“Now, put an ice cube inside you.”

I thought, no, he did not just say that. I will die. I will
fucking die.

Taking the phone with me, I picked up another ice cube,
slippery, cold, and wet in my hand and worked it inside my pajama bottoms. The
ice melted from my heat, tracking gelid drops to my mound. When I touched the
cube to my cunt, it dissolved in layers with a sharp chill that softened and
slowly permeated the hot swollen lips and numbed them. Pushed in farther, the
melting ice replaced the heat and filled my cunt with coolness, the folds
pressing against the diminishing cube, thawing and flowing down my legs. This,
I decided, is why there is no ice in hell. The only thing more amazing would
have been to have his hard cock follow the melting ice.

“Did you like that?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I whimpered in an exhale, my breathing heavy.

“Now lay down. I want to taste you.”

I started to protest. “I don’t think …”

“It’s just a phone call,” he said, and I could hear the
need in his voice. “Are you lying down?”

“I’m on the couch.”

“Close your eyes and feel me there with you.”

I felt the weight of his body on mine. His hands fondled my
breasts and his lips found mine. Taking in his tongue, I tasted him, and he
gently bit my lower lip. He kissed and licked across my chin and neck, trailing
down to my breasts, his hands spreading heat along my body. He sucked at my
breasts, taking the hard nipple in his mouth and tapping it with his tongue. Sliding
farther down over my stomach, his hands parted my thighs, his breath tickling
as his fingers spread the lips of my cunt, and he slowly licked.

“
Mmm
, you taste good.” He swirled
over my clit and pushed his tongue deep within me.

“Are you touching yourself? Do you feel my tongue?” he
asked.

“Oh, yeah, keep going,” I breathed.

“I want to make you come. I want to hear you come.”

He kissed and gently sucked between licks of my cunt,
breezing over my clit. Gliding his hands over my thighs to my center, he took
my clit in his mouth and flicked his tongue.

“Put your fingers in me,” I gasped.

He pushed two fingers into my wetness, and the folds gripped
his fingers pumping in and out. He sucked and licked my clit faster and fucked
me with his fingers.

“Oh, John, I’m coming!” I cried into the phone. My body
convulsed with waves of pleasure, and my cunt squeezed the fingers I imagined
were his. I nearly cried with the overwhelming release. Beaded with sweat my skin
tingled and cooled, and all too soon the absence of him filled me, and my eyes filled
with tears. “Damn, I want you.” I knew he couldn’t tell if my sobs were from
pleasure or aching, and neither could I.

“I know. I want you too.”

A lull in the conversation choked me with dread. I hate
being ditched. At times, I don’t mind ‘Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am’ but, online
and on the phone some guys forget the
thank
you
part or even
goodbye
and run
when it’s over like they were paying by the minute instead of getting it for
free. I needn’t have worried.

“Do you think about me?” he asked.

We talked, and I’ll spare you those details, but he was
sweet and funny. We navigated through all potential deal breakers, including
the natural state of my hair below, without incident. All would have been right
with the world, except for the fact that we still could not be together.

Chapter Two

Around lunchtime the next day I was working in the law
library at the courthouse, researching a multi-state issue beyond my firm’s
limited subscription to an online legal database when he came in and sat at a
computer in the corner with his white shirt rolled up on his forearms. I was
curious. DAs do not ordinarily research and rarely submit a memorandum on a
case. They just seem to assume the law is on their side and most of the time it
is. In their defense though, they do have a lot of cases and not much time. I
got up and walked over to him. Intent on his work he didn’t notice me until I
bent over from behind him and whispered in his ear. His face lit up with a dazed
smile, he shook his head, lifted his hands from the keyboard, leaned back in
his chair, and bit his lower lip.

“What are you working on?” I asked, changing the subject.

“I have a frisk issue. Judge Brown wants some cases when we
get back after lunch, and I got four hundred and twenty-three results.”

“Have you checked
Knowles
?
It’s a recent case that discusses the history of the protective frisk.
Here.
” I sat in the chair beside him, reached across to the
keyboard, and brought up the case. While I scrolled down, he moved his hand
beneath the table and placed it on my knee.

“This better not be for one of my cases.”

“It’s not.” He glided his hand up my thigh and under my
skirt. His fingers found the top of my thigh-high stockings, and I heard an
audible exhale and smiled. Advancing to my crotch, he teased my panties aside
to reach my slit.

I continued to scroll, trying to concentrate on the words
and not wanting him to stop, until I reached the discussion I was looking for.
“There,” I breathed as his finger pushed into my wet cunt. I emitted a barely
perceptible moan and our eyes locked while time seemed to suspend. “On the
screen,” I managed to say after a lingering moment.

He slowly slid back his hand along my thigh, licked his
finger, and then attended to the case.

“Notable British Trials,” I blurted.

“What?” He glanced away from the screen.

“Third floor, take a left, six stacks down is where they
keep the Notable British Trials series. No one goes there. That’s where I’m
going for lunch.” I blushed and checked the wall clock. He
did the same. It was a
quarter past one. Court would resume at two.

“Let me take a look at this,” he said.

I left and went upstairs to my lair, the part of the
library I had taken over as my refuge. I would go up and sit in the deserted
row reading about long-ago trials and people who no longer mattered to anyone
but me. When I first made my discovery I would lean against the stacks,
gleaning the pages until discomfort inspired me to bring over a chair. One day
I forgot to put the chair back, and it was still there when I returned. I
realized then that no one, not even the library staff, went up there. I was reading
in the chair, or rather staring at the words in the open book in front of me,
with my feet propped on a shelf and my back to the aisle when I heard him
behind me.

“You come here often?” he quipped, walking past the chair
in the narrow row and turning to face me. “That was a good case.”

I closed the book, set it on the shelf and stood up. Pulling
me toward him, he scooped me into his arms and kissed me in one fluid sweep.
His tongue searched for mine as I fell into him, breathing in his scent of soap
and musk and reveling in the crush of his body against mine. I tasted his lips
and tongue with soft licks, his cock hardening against my stomach. He tugged at
my blouse, moving his hands underneath to reach my bare skin. Pushing my bra
aside, he caressed my breasts, pinched the nipples and rolled his palms against
them, making me shudder. His hands pressed down my form to my knees, then hiked
up my skirt and slowly slid my panties down my legs. Placing my hands on his
shoulders, I stepped out of them. He gathered my panties and stood, sniffing them
before putting them in his pocket with a wry smile.

“Turn around,” he said.

I hesitated, and he kissed me again, skimming his hand over
my ass. “I want to taste your cock, first,” I said unzipping his pants.

“We don’t have time for that now. I want to fuck you.”

Only an earthquake could have stopped me. Turning around I
bent over and grabbed the arms of the chair, breathing heavily in anticipation
of fulfillment. Resting a hand on my back, he reached with the other to let
down my hair. I heard a tear and turned my head to look at him. He had opened a
condom package.

“Eagle scout,” he whispered.

I watched him roll it onto his long thick cock hard against
his stomach. Wrapping his left arm around my waist, he swept my hair aside with
his right hand and kissed my neck.

“I’ve been dreaming about you,” he whispered in my ear,
licked it, and bit my lobe. I moaned and rolled my hips against him.

Hitching up my skirt, he rubbed his cock against my wet
slit and over my clit. His cock nudged at the entrance to my cunt and with a
slow, slow push he drove the length of it into me stretching and filling me
until I sensed him to the back of my throat. I hung my head, my hair falling in
my face, and bit my lip, catching my breath.

“You are so tight,” he moaned. Gripping my
hips, he dug his fingers into me, and stroked in and out, at first slowly then
harder and faster. “I can’t believe I’m fucking you. God, this feels so good,”
he whispered.

Joining his rhythm, I rocked against him letting
out soft “
ahs
” at each deep thrust. He
pulled back until he was almost out of me, then forced himself back in, through
the folds of my throbbing cunt. Reaching around my waist and between my legs,
he rubbed my clit, dancing circles with his fingers.

“Oh, God, I’m
gonna
come,” I panted.

“I want to feel you squeeze my cock,” he
said grabbing my shoulders and pounding into me harder and deeper. His thighs
rubbed against the back of mine while his cock split me and my groin coiled
tighter. My orgasm overpowering me, I couldn’t help it; I screamed, a little
bit. For a moment my half scream hovered as he joined me in his release and
groaned, coming with sharp thrusts. The chances no one heard me were not good. I
would not want those odds in Vegas. I gave us thirty seconds, a minute tops,
even in this desolate area of the library.

He pulled out of me, and I got up, fixed
my bra and blouse, and arranged my skirt. I turned around to face him, looked
at him and bit my lip. I was blocking him, which was a good thing because just
then a librarian walked by.

“Did you hear a noise, sounded like a
scream?” she asked.

“No,” he said, and I admired his control.

“
Huh
,”
she said, “I could have sworn I heard something.”

After she walked away, he finished
attending to his pants. Giggling, I put my hair back up. “Do I look okay?” I
asked still flush with our exertion.

“You look radiant,” he said and kissed me,
settling his hands at my waist. Do you always scream when you come?”

“I usually don’t. I don’t know what got
into me.” I laughed, amused by the double entendre. “Can I have my underwear?”
I asked, holding out my open palm.

Taking my hand, he brought it to his lips
and kissed it. “No, I’m keeping them as evidence.” He smiled, pulling me against
him, and kissed me. The moist warmth of his mouth and tongue caressed my opened
lips, and heat rose from each site where our bodies touched.

“I have to get back to court,” he said
with, I believe, genuine reluctance in his voice.

I stayed until I knew he had left the
library then returned to my research at a table with the sun slanting through
the large windows. I brought up the case that kept us apart to see if I could
find a way out, an angle, an argument to end the torture, but the law was
absolute. An ‘intimate companion’ of a district attorney could represent
criminal defendants whom the district attorney’s office prosecuted provided the
‘intimate companion’ did not represent clients in cases in which the district
attorney was involved, and the conflict was fully dis
closed
in writing and consented to by the client
. I was fucked and not in a
good way.

I walked over to Judge Brown’s courtroom
wondering how long and how much fucking it takes to qualify someone as an ‘intimate
companion’ and whether we had crossed that threshold. I sat in the gallery and
listened to the arguments. John had on his game face. I watched him argue about
pat-frisks and furtive gestures with my underwear in his pocket and the law had
never seemed hotter. I sighed loud enough to make the person in front of me
turn around and give me a look. I had it bad, and our clandestine quickie only
served to stoke a fire already raging well out of control and engulfing me. Sitting
in the courtroom, in the quiet broken only by the voices of the attorneys,
clerk, and judge, I challenged my so-called brilliant mind to devise a plan.

I returned to the office after the sun went down and the
library closed. The wind cut through me, and I looked forward to the train ride
home. A new case waited on my desk with a sticky note stating we needed a
motion to dismiss and motion to suppress statements. I took the file to read on
the train. It was a murder case and reality set in. Our twenty-year-old client,
Charles Johnson, in a flash of uncontrolled rage had stomped on his
girlfriend’s two-year-old daughter to shut her up, thus ending her life and his
own, because even though we have no death penalty in this state, life in prison
without the possibility of parole adds up to the same thing.

Usually I’m okay with cases. I stay detached and focus on
the issues, but I was feeling particularly vulnerable, and the circumstances
were heartbreaking. When I read in the autopsy report about the partially
digested bologna sandwich in the victim’s stomach my gut twisted, and I forced
down the lump in my throat. I thought back to the moment when she had been
eating, back when she had been alive, and death and murder were nowhere in
sight. When I got to the Grand Jury minutes and read that John Hawkins was the
DA on the case, I realized with certainty that I couldn’t continue with the
pretense. Life had intruded. He called that night, and I didn’t answer the
phone.

* * * *

The following day I was back at the courthouse to file
papers when the elevator doors opened to reveal John Hawkins standing in the
corner at the back. Coincidence? I think not. Life is intentionally cruel. He
smiled, and I thought of waiting for another car, but walked in and stood with
my back to him in the center. He didn’t know everything had changed and likely
attributed my indifference to caution. More people entered, filling the car and
pushing me back toward his corner until my back pressed up against him. Did I
mention life is cruel? Internally I swore a blue streak that no one has ever
heard pass my lips.

The elevator was warm and close, bodies shuffling against
each other. The doors opened periodically signaling an exchange of people in a
dance of humanity. His heat radiated toward me, enclosing me in his sphere, and
his cock hardened against my back. Circling his arm around my waist, he pulled
me toward him while the papers I intended to file covered his hand. My body
softened, and I let him hold me, caught between my duty and my need. When I
reached my floor I moved to get off, but he stopped me, and I didn’t struggle. We
stayed on the elevator until the car emptied, and we were alone heading back
down. Before we arrived at the next level I stepped forward and pulled the stop
button.

I intended to tell him I couldn’t go on, but when I faced
him, he put his arms around me and kissed me. I passed my tongue on the edge of
his lips, moist and tasting salty-sweet. Opening his mouth to take in my
tongue, his warm breath brushed my face. My resolve abandoned me, and I knew we
didn’t have much time. My hands on his shoulders, I pushed him down until he
was sitting in front of me and straddled him. He held my waist, and I looked in
his eyes with such need I was astonished he could withstand the demand. Kissing
him with urgency, I sat on him and ground my hips. His cock continued to harden
against his trousers and my crotch. I moaned with the sudden intensity of the
moment.

“You don’t frighten me,” he whispered, sliding his hands
under my skirt.

I lifted myself while he unzipped his pants and brought out
another condom. Taking it from his hand, I kissed him, ripped it open and sheathed
his fully hard and stiff cock. Moving my panties aside, I brought his cock to
my opening wet with my arousal. With the tip pressed against the entrance to my
cunt, I slowly descended, his hands guiding my ass. As the head spread my lips
and entered, my muscles grasped his cock in the spasms of my orgasm.

“
Ah
.” I exhaled
softly, continued my descent and forced his swollen staff through the pulses of
the muscles tightening around him until he was buried to the root. I stopped
and swayed into him, my hair falling in my face, gasping against him while my
body continued to throb. When my spasms subsided, I opened my eyes and looked
into his. Breathing heavily and bending to kiss him, I again ground my hips
feeling him within me, filling me. I tasted his lips and tongue, bucking on his
cock, and he thrust his hips to meet me. Hands braced on his shoulders, I rose
from my knees to lengthen his strokes.