Wolf's Den - A BBW Shifter Romance Novel (46 page)

“That was about...let’s see, five years ago,” he said. I know the look on my face didn’t hide my true feelings very well.

“Five years? You haven’t been with a woman since then?” I asked.

“No, I haven’t found the right girl,” he replied.

“You’ve dated though, right?” I asked. He must have dated in the last five years.

“No, I haven’t. But in the last few months, I’m feeling like I’m ready. I’m not feeling so vulnerable anymore. I haven’t cried in nearly six months,” he told me. I took a swing of beer. Was he serious? I felt myself begin to unravel.

“Let me get this straight. You dated a girl for a year, you broke up because the spreadsheet told you to and then you’ve spent the last five fucking years crying about it?” I asked. I know it was rude but I couldn’t help it. He had to be kidding.

“Yes,” he said obviously flustered by my words but then added, “Thankfully, our relationship hadn’t become physical.” What?

“You never had sex with this girl?” I asked not believing what I was hearing. Was this a joke?

“Oh no, I respected her far too much,” he said. Suddenly, I was channeling Sheila.

“So, if I told you I wanted to take you home and fuck your brains out, you’d decline out of respect?” I wondered. Ashley’s eyes grew larger and his pale cheeks turned red. Not every guy in these circles was quite this bad, but none of them was Dutch.

“I...uh...um...,” Ashley stammered. There was no way in hell I was going to go out with this guy. However, that didn’t mean I couldn’t have a little fun. I didn’t even realize I was acting just as I did with Dutch, Locke and Sheila. It didn’t even occur to me that maybe this was the life I wasn’t cut out for.

“You don’t think I’m pretty?” I challenged Ashley.

“Well, I hardly know you,” he replied.

“You don’t want me to get you naked and suck your cock? Maybe let you fuck my big ass until you fill me with your orgasm?” I asked him. Ashley was beet red and looking at his feet. I shook my head and took another swing of beer. “Is Ashley your real name?” I asked suddenly disgusted by the whole situation.

“Yes! My parents felt a non-gender specific name would allow me to grow in the way I felt best. They didn’t want me to feel pressured to grow into one gender or sexuality,” Ashley told me. I closed my mouth after I realized it had fallen open.

“Apparently, you still haven’t made a choice,” I said with more sarcasm that I had intended. Becky had taken notice and she came around to face me.

“What are you doing? This isn’t some loser biker bar. You need to get a hold of yourself, Shauna. You owe Ashley an apology,” she said through clenched teeth. Ashley looked like he was on the verge of tears.

“You’re right, Becky. I do owe him an apology,” I told her and then faced Ashley. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re so pathetic. I’m sorry Becky thought I was so desperate that I’d even begin to find a man,” I said using air quotes, “like you attractive. I’m sorry she wasted our time.” Ashley literately ran away.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Becky asked angrily.

“Becky, did you really think I’d like that guy?” I pushed.

“Well, yes. He’s a nice guy, respectful and stable. Not like that loser you were dating. Besides, the woman he was with was, well, full-bodied like you. I thought that...,” Becky tried to explain but I cut her short.

“You thought what? That I have to settle for a guy like that because I’m fat?” I asked her.

“You’re a big girl, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but not every guy wants a girl that doesn’t respect herself enough to make herself attractive. You know it and I know it. I was only trying to help,” she said. Wow! I guess Becky’s digs at my weight after I began seeing Dutch weren’t just angry insults.

“Becky, let me explain something. I’m beautiful and some men do like my curves. Men! Not these panty-wearing, gender-confused, metrosexuals,” I said loudly and a few of the guys turned to look at me. I didn’t care. “I’ve been with a man that was ten times the guy these losers will ever be. He did things to me you only dream about, Becky,” I finished.

“Then why aren’t you with him?” she asked smugly. That hit me hard. I realized then what I had just said. The words just came out. I didn’t consider them before I said them, just like I didn’t think about the way I acted towards Ashley or when I ordered a shot of whiskey and a beer instead of wine or a fruity martini. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for a life with Dutch, but I wasn’t cut out for this either.

“Becky, you’re a cunt. I usually don’t use that word, but it applies. I’m going home,” was all I said and walked away, pulling my painful high heels off as I went.

“I never! You’re going to regret...,” Becky shrieked but her voice was lost in the lousy acoustic guitar and incessant whining of the coffeehouse music as I left her behind. Outside I hailed a cab and went home. Maybe Dutch and his lifestyle weren’t for me, but Becky and that bunch weren’t either. I guess when I left one life, I went back to the old one assuming that was the right thing to do. It wasn’t and now I felt even more depressed. I felt as if I was adrift between worlds with no real place I could call my own.

It was still early when I got back home. My little exchange with Ashley was mean and I felt bad but more than anything, it made me horny for some reason. I hadn’t so much as accidently brushed a hand over my pussy since I was last with Dutch and I felt the need for a little relief. Oh sure, I wanted to remind myself what sex was like with Dutch, but I wasn’t going to let myself do it. Instead, I stripped and went to my bed, grabbed a vibrator, purposely not the one Dutch had used on me a few weeks ago, and went to town.

I kept it physical. I refused to admit that if I let my mind wander, I knew right where it would end up. I might have made a decision to cut ties with Becky and that life, but I wasn’t ready to run back to the other. It was still frightening and I had my pride. I’d look like a fool. Not that I wanted to run back. No, I was done with all of it. I was on my own, no friends, no direction and I stubbornly clung to that idea.

I took out the frustration of the evening and the last couple of weeks on myself. It wasn’t long before the vibrator I stroked in and out of my soft tunnel and the fingers tormenting my swollen nub brought me to a forceful yet somehow unsatisfying orgasm. I could have just gotten drunk, eaten a gallon of ice cream or watched a tear jerking chick flick to help me forget. Instead, I chose to masturbate.

I had orgasm after orgasm, each stronger than the last and each as unsatisfying as the first. The more I pleasured myself, the angrier I got and the louder I screamed and wailed. Soon, my hands were a blur and my body was burning from the effort. I was awash in sensation but none of it truly pleasing. However, my emotions were welling up and before I knew it, I was crying. Still I refused to stop, trying to find something that wasn’t there.

I sobbed as I tortured my poor pussy. The frustration was overwhelming. Not just the vague, unsatisfying pleasure but everything. Why did it have to be so hard? Why couldn’t I just figure this out? Why was I being so damned stubborn? I screeched, took the vibrator and threw it. It shattered against the wall. I fell back to the bed and cried. I didn’t even know why. My thoughts were too scattered, to clouded, but through all of it there was a clear feeling of deep sadness and I let it all out.

>>O<<

I woke up on top of my comforter, still naked and my cheeks crusted with the salt from my tears. It was late, almost ten in the morning. I didn’t feel any better but my head was clear for the first time in weeks. I had a single thought. I’d fucked up big time and ruined everything. I wasn’t deluding myself any longer. I loved Dutch. Nevertheless, that conclusion didn’t make anything better. It just made me feel worse.

I had it all and I threw it away because I was scared. I was still scared. I was scared of my feelings, afraid Dutch would come to his senses someday and leave me and I was frightened of living on the edge. I felt like a fool, a failure, for screwing this up. Sheila never said it. She never said Dutch wanted me back and I didn’t know if I wanted to try. My pride was getting in the way too. How could I go back and face Dutch and his friends?

I reluctantly got up, showered and dressed. I wasn’t sure if I was going to throw myself into housework and laundry to forget or spend that day sulking and feeling sorry for myself. Rather than make that critical choice, I made some coffee and a bagel. When I was finished, I still wasn’t sure how to proceed but when I found the shattered sex toy in the bedroom, I picked it up. I never stopped.

I cleaned, polished, dusted just about everything at least once, rearranged my closet and even went through my spare room and unpacked boxes that had been sitting in there since I moved in. By that evening, I was wiped but I still felt edgy. The orgasms, more than I could even remember, hadn’t been satisfying and even after all the housework I had no sense of accomplishment. I had the vague feeling that there was some other need I had yet to satisfy.

I lay sprawled on my sofa in leggings and a tank feeling depressed and tired. I regretted reconnecting with Becky. I should have known better. Did she really think I’d go for that man, and I use that term loosely, she introduced me too? Did she really think that’s all I could get? Damn, did she not see the guy I was going out with before I...

I was roused from my thoughts by a knock at my door. Thankfully, I didn’t finish that thought. My mind was wandering and it almost went somewhere I didn’t want to go. I dragged myself off the sofa and went to answer the door. I opened the door and the sight that greeted me completed the unfinished thought for me. Dutch stood in my doorway.

He looked like he always did, in other words, amazing. The tight blue jeans, the black t-shirt with a half-naked woman all but making love to a motorcycle, the leather jacket and a bandana around his head of shaggy blond hair. However, it was his sexy blue eyes that I couldn’t ignore. They bore into me, intense and demanding. I was too shocked to say anything and simply stood in the doorway staring.

Dutch didn’t say a word as he pushed his way past me. He went to my refrigerator, got himself a beer and then plopped onto my sofa and set his big black boots on my freshly cleaned coffee table. I shut the door and attempted to gather my thoughts. I stood opposite the coffee table as Dutch sipped his beer. His eyes started at my feet and swept up my body slowly, drinking me in. His expression was empty, no sadness, anger or frustration showed in his eyes.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Looking at you,” he said.

“I mean what are you doing here? I texted you and told you I didn’t want to see you,” I reminded him and tried not to feel bad for being such a coward.

“Yeah, I know. I guess I got tired of waiting for you to come to your senses,” he told me. I felt like I was at a fork in the road. I could heed my baser instincts, my deepest desires, and let Dutch back into my life. It would be so easy. On the other hand, I could let my fears and stubborn pride take over. That’s the path I took.

“My senses? You’re the one that’s lost your mind. Love and marriage? Really? Are you nuts? We barely know each other. You live in a fucking garage. You don’t even have a real car. You and I are from different worlds. It was fun, Dutch, but it would never work. I’m not who you think I am,” I said. It sounded better than it did in my head. I’d managed to take the million thoughts and excuses and form a fairly coherent statement. At least I thought I did. I wasn’t so sure when Dutch began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” I demanded.

“You. You’re funny,” he said calmly and coolly.

“Don’t make fun of me. Fuck you,” I said. Dutch laughed softly again.

“There’s the Shauna I fell in love with. There’s the girl that let Shelia do body shots off her. There’s the girl that got under that big biker’s skin. The girl that let me tie her up with her own nylons and fuck her in the ass. Quit pretending you’re some stuck up yuppie girl. You’re a biker, you’re a sexy, curvy biker bitch with an attitude and a taste for adventure. You’ll never be happy until you embrace that,” Dutch said. My anger flared in an attempt to mask the feelings those words brought on.

“You think you’re all that. Like I’m just going to do whatever you think I should. Well, I’m not. I’m not your puppet, I’m not your pet. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t love you. I’m not who you think I am and stop telling me I am,” I said almost yelling as I finished. Dutch smirked. Fuck, why was this so funny?