Come Back To Me (4 page)

Making his way to the massive bathroom
he began to shed his suit and toss it on a nearby chair. He turned
on the shower water, let it heat up and stepped in.

The type of women his buddies were
setting him up with crossed his mind, they were all fake, and he
knew it. He supposed since his friends all found happiness with
that type of woman, they figured he would too. They were all live
blow up dolls, no personality, just air in between their
ears.

He wanted someone he could talk to,
someone who understood him completely. Someone who would love the
man and not his bank account. Pushing the thoughts of “Happily ever
after” aside, Jake felt he needed to release his pent up sexual
frustration that was brooding in his balls.

Jake grabbed his rock hard cock and
began to slowly stroke the shaft, visions of his busty date
filtered through his head but that was getting him nowhere.
Suddenly a vision of the “mystery woman” crossed his thoughts and
his dick became much harder. Oh yeah. Jake pictured her mouth
wrapped around his pulsing member, and he began to stroke faster.
He then fantasized about her being pinned beneath him while he
pumped all eight inches into her tight flesh. The visions had his
spine tingling and he knew his release wasn’t far off. Jake pumped
a few more strokes and his whole body shuddered. He felt the heat
of his seed beginning to travel up his cock, he groaned when he
spilled his juices onto the marble shower floor. Holy
Fuck.

He finally slowed his breathing, and
removed himself from the steaming shower. He wiped off the
condensation off of the mirror with his hand, and gazed into his
reflection.

“If a thought of that woman can do that
to me, there is no telling what her actual body could
do.”

Three

After slurping down several cups of
gourmet coffee, I decide it was time to get the lay of the land of
my new home. It was huge, and not what I expected from a typical
New York City apartment. It was by far larger than where I lived in
L.A. My home there was a one bedroom bungalow; it was cozy and fit
me perfectly. I found myself missing it for a moment.

I walked through my new place and found
the master bedroom; surprisingly it was decorated in serene calming
colors. Light jade, accented with a light warm taupe, and cream
that made me want to curl up on the floor and sleep for days. The
centerpiece of the room was a stunning four post queen sized bed,
draped with what looked like a horribly expensive duvet. There were
throw pillows of all shapes and sizes, neatly organized to
compliment the colors of the room.

Two night stand stood on both sides of
the bed, and they were topped with glass lamps. All of the
furniture was a light wood, and it all worked together to form a
cohesive décor. I had a dresser with mirror, armoire, and at the
foot of the bed sat a bench which was upholstered in a creamy shade
of brown. It was all beautiful and peaceful I loved it. I was so
surprised this décor came from the brain of my neurotic Mother;
there was no sign of her normal over the top extravagance in this
room. Kudos to her for laying off the crystal and sequins for a
change.

I made my way to the bathroom, and my
jaw hit the floor. I hoped there was a spatula in the kitchen for
me to extract it.

Really?

My pleasure about the bedroom was short
lived when I entered the bathroom. There in the middle of the room
stood a claw foot bathtub, hanging above it was a massive
chandelier, with all sorts of bling dripping from it. There were
all kinds of sparkling accessories including the soap dishes, and
toilet paper holder. On a small dressing table sat a candelabrum
that looked like it might have been lifted from Liberacchis
home.

I knew my Mother couldn’t keep her
personal style at bay for long. It was like keeping a tiger in a
cage; eventually it would escape and wreak havoc on everything.
Taking another look around I decided it wouldn’t be so bad, I could
just pretend I was in a Madonna music video every time I
bathed.

Trying to be grateful I went back into
the bedroom, I noticed a door that I previously overlooked. I
turned the knob and was stunned to see a giant walk in closet. Fuck
me!

The closet was filled to capacity with
brand new clothing, tags still attached to each piece. I stood
there for a few minutes, still hoping to find a spatula later for
my jaw that was now permanently attached to the floor. Sure I
needed new clothing for my job but I would have rather had the
choice in the matter. I was perfectly content wearing things from
the Gap, but seeing the tags on the clothing I realized my Mother
had other ideas.

Marc Jacobs, Michael Kors, and Dianne
Von Furstenberg had invaded my damn closet. As I looked over the
insane amount of shoes below, I found that Jimmy Choo had joined
the party as well. What the hell?

Typical nonsense from my
Mother.

I exited the closet before I had a
stroke and headed back to the kitchen. My stomach was growling so
loud I thought I had a pet hiding somewhere in my apartment. I
needed to find sustenance, but being the horrible cook I was, I
opted for takeout.

I had a friend in L.A. who told me NYC
style pizza was the best on the planet, so I thought I’d give it a
try. Five minutes later I was headed out the door to pick up my
dinner. I had no need to dress up so before leaving I dug out some
black yoga pants and a hoodie from my suitcase.

I ended up walking about five blocks
and found the little pizzeria where I called in my order, I went
inside picked it up and left. The smell coming from the box made me
salivate, damn it was heaven.

As I left the pizza place I noticed a
shiny new Range Rover parked in front of a restaurant across the
street. I stood there for a moment because I loved those cars, so
rugged yet extremely luxurious. I was always told I wasn’t the
typical female because cars turned me on. They made me jittery in
all the right places, and I had a good knowledge of makes and
models. All I could think of while staring at the black SUV was how
great it would be to climb in the back and fuck.

I watched the valet hand the keys to
the owner, and although I couldn’t see his face, I could tell he
had a smoking hot body. He was tall, but not jolly green giant
tall, sandy blonde hair of medium length, and muscles that shone
through his terribly expensive suit. His shoes were so shiny I
figured my reflection could easily be seen in them.

My mind was going rampant with all the
thoughts of what sort of man he was. What kind of equipment was he
hiding under the layers of business attire? He looked like he could
tie someone up and fuck them from dusk until dawn and never tire. I
began to feel my nipples harden under the fabric of the heavy
sweatshirt I was donning. My thighs became sticky with moisture
from my weeping sex. I knew I needed to get out of there before I
spontaneously combusted right there on the sidewalk.

With my pie in hand I walked the five
blocks back to my building. I could smell the ingredients coming
from under the lid the entire way, and it took sheer will power not
to dive in on the walk home.

The image of the sexy man kept creeping
back to me, god he was something. What I wouldn’t give to wrap my
thighs around him and let him use me in ways I could only imagine.
I had to stop this; I wasn’t some sex starved psycho!

Once I returned back to my apartment I
released the pizza from its cardboard holding. I opted out of a
plate and fork and dug right in.

Tonight I would just relax, I didn’t
start my new job until Monday so I still had Saturday to unpack my
bags and get settled in. I grabbed the TV remote and flipped on the
giant flat screen device. I browsed through some channels, before
settling on a celebrity news program. Somehow watching celebs lives
fall apart on national television made me feel better about myself.
How sadistic was that? No matter how fucked up my life was shows
like that made me feel like I lived a “Leave it to Beaver”
lifestyle.

I shoved another piece of delicious pie
into my mouth and I almost choked while looking at the screen.
There on the television, in my living room, was my ex, Michael
Parker.

“What is that fucker doing on TV?” I
said out loud.

I turned up the volume so I could hear
what the low life had to say. A churning in the pit of my stomach
started at the sound of his voice.

“I just want Emily to know that I love
her, and I know in my heart we are meant to be
together.”

The churning became worse, and I ran to
the kitchen to find the garbage can. I emptied my stomach contents,
wiped my mouth and went back to the television. It was like a train
wreck, I couldn’t take my eyes off.

This guy never quit! Holy shit, I broke
it off with him eight months ago and he was still pining for
me.

He continued “I’m not sure where she
is, but Emily if you see this please…I love you.”

Fury rose through my veins at his
words.

“Love huh? Was that what it was called
when you beat the shit out of me? Was it love when you cracked my
head open on the end table in your apartment, and then broke my
ribs?” I screamed at the TV.

I was in disbelief that they were
rehashing this old news, yes our breakup had been the center of
media attention for a month or so, but I assumed it was old hat by
now.

My parents tried to keep the press out
of the situation to help save Michael’s budding acting career, but
in doing so they pushed me away from them. I was their daughter;
they were supposed to protect me. Instead I got the blame for
Michael’s drinking problem. It was my fault when he got shit faced
and took it out on me.

I relived that night so many times I
was sick of crying about it, I never thought I deserved the way he
treated me, but my parents had a different opinion. They sided with
him, even though he was out of control.

Every time I closed my eyes for the
last six months, all I could see was him kicking me to the floor
and smashing my head on the end table on the way down. The image of
seeing myself in the mirror four days later horrified me. I didn’t
recognize myself, black eyes, bruised cheek, and stitches on the
side of my head.

I vowed to myself that day I would
never let someone lay a hand on me unless I asked them
to.

Michael had been the other reason I
decided to leave L.A., he kept trying to get in touch with me,
blowing up my phone, and email. He wouldn’t stop, and his obsessive
behavior scared the shit out of me. I told my naïve self that he
was a good person and just needed help.

Maybe I was the one needing help, after
all, was I condoning his behavior just like my parents did? I hated
myself for letting it happen, and hated him for not loving me
enough.

My parents didn’t see what they did to
me by siding with the lunatic, they hurt me far beyond repair, and
I wasn’t sure I could ever forgive them for it.

Four

As Jake emerged from the shower he felt
emptier than he had before. Sure jacking off cured the immediate
ache in his groin but it did nothing to help the hole in his chest.
Instead of feeling better and relaxed he felt on edge and uptight
again.

He made his way to the kitchen and
thought maybe a late night snack would cure his thoughts of
loneliness. Wasn’t this what women did? Curing their emotional woes
with a pint of ice cream or deep fried delights? He really needed
to snap out of the funk he found himself in.

Jake rummaged through the refrigerator
and pulled out the fixings for a sandwich. He grabbed the TV remote
from the counter and flipped it on for some background noise. He
assembled his snack while a celebrity news program flashed across
the screen.

His culinary sandwich masterpiece was
interrupted by the headline on the program.

“Michael Parker and fiancée Emily Mills
split”

Holy shit!

“Is that? No, it couldn’t be…” he said
out loud.

He stared at the screen as
they flashed a photograph of the couple. Michael had dark brown
hair, and hazel eyes, and what got him was the mischievous grin on
his face. It was like seeing the Joker from Batman on the TV. Jake
then focused on the woman next to Michael in the picture, she was
gorgeous, it
was
Emily.

Jake could see those artic blue eyes of
hers that he remembered so vividly, and her flowing blonde hair
that made him want to reach out and touch the television. Her mouth
was just as he recalled too, the perfect cupid’s bow of lips,
perfectly pink and pouty. Jake then thought about the times he made
that mouth laugh, he would watch it open and close, and he always
wondered what a kiss from those lips would feel like. Would she
taste as sweet as she looked?

So many memories flashed back to him in
that moment, like the time they toilet papered the dean’s car, and
the time he bet Emily that she wouldn’t run through the dining hall
on campus half naked. He wasn’t allowed to look of course, but he
never told her he snuck a peek anyway. She was so much
fun.

Emily had truly been a best
friend to him back then, and Jake could see from the picture on TV
that she wasn’t happy. It
was the same
disappointing look she gave him in college when she failed her mock
bar exam. He comforted her for hours, bringing chocolate, ice
cream, and of course her favorite wine coolers. He would have given
her the moon just to see her smile again.