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30 Days or Bust: Day 02

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All characters in this story are age 18 or older.


It is Saturday. Last night I slept amazingly well. I didn’t want to analyze why I felt so good, I just wanted to keep that dreamy feeling, so I laid in bed for a few minutes, nestled in the warm haze.

It was the coffeepot’s pre-set click that woke me, and the smell drifted into my bedroom, the gentlest of signals to wake. I can’t even call it an alarm. Why don’t more people do this? You set the timer and that’s it.

Anyway it seemed like a great day to rake leaves and think about yesterday afternoon in the lab, and just breathe. My experiment is underway now, and it’s important to engage in reflection. Are the elements doing what I thought they would – what are the surprises – what needs adjusting – temperature, moisture, pressure …

These thoughts brushed through my mind just as my hands would carefully adjust a dial. Any scientist will tell you, just like in the Jodie Foster movie, “Small moves.” You never, never, make wild swings in any one direction. You tweak. You adjust.

Yet, I sobered, a wild swing was exactly what I had done. I sipped coffee and pulled on my sweat pants. Years of tweaking and adjusting my social life had left me unsatisfied. It seemed like I had to do something radically different if I was going to get what I wanted. So here I was, literally placing myself in the hands of a stranger.

I argued with myself. It wasn’t reckless. I had controlled the parameters exactly. Wish Fulfillment was exactly that. Throughout the interview process Mr. Jantzen and I had gone over every detail: the kind of man. What would and would not happen. Acceptable and unacceptable locations. And, most importantly to me, a timeframe – a chronological stop and start. If my body would not produce milk after thirty days of consistent treatment (sucking, god yes, glorious wanton sucking), then maybe – maybe bahis firmaları I couldn’t. Can’t.

I shook my head. No depressing thoughts were allowed today. I set the coffee on the deck and attacked the back yard, raking vigorously and enjoying the crunch, whoosh, of the dead leaves. The smell of death was so sweet and clean. Most people think of death as some dark depressing thing, and it is not so. As a biologist, I’m well acquainted with this big dark scary thing, and all it is, is compost. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Inability to give life, to participate in the cycle at all – now that I find scary.

Scrape, scrape. Despite the cool autumn air, I began to sweat, and paused to peel off my shirt jacket. The red and black plaid made me feel sort of manly, like I was from Ohio or something, and the thought made me giggle.

“What’s funny?” said a voice just behind me.

I jumped. “Oh! I didn’t expect to see you this early.”

Mark was dressed comfortably in jeans and a forest green sweatshirt. “If you want to pay extra, I’ll rake your yard.”

At my baffled look, he laughed. “Doctor, that was a joke.”

“Of course. Of course.” Now I just stood there blushing like a fool. Not a thing to say came to mind so at last I offered him some coffee.

“No thanks,” he smiled, “I’m just here for our appointment.”

He put his hands on my shoulders. I started to pull away. “Not here,” I said, looking around.

“This way,” he answered, and led my by the hand back to the deck.

Yes, my deck is private, but … here? Outdoors?

Apparently that was exactly what my friend had in mind. I let him peel off my tee shirt. It must have been easy for him to see that I wasn’t wearing a brassiere, and maybe that was the comment he held back – he seemed about to say something.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. Here, why don’t you sit here.” He guided kaçak iddaa me to a place on the edge of the round patio table and took a chair facing me. I was so aware that he was fully dressed, and I was naked from the waist up.

Awkwardly I leaned forward and he began a squeezing massage. My nipples had already been erect; somehow he made them more so. Every hair on my body stood alert, drawn to the magnetic north of what was happening to my chest. Mark kneaded and lifted. I almost wished my breasts would not let down their milk too soon. I could get used to this daily massage thing.

It was an incredible turnon, to be outdoors half naked, letting this good-looking stranger fondle my tits. He was very, very skilled, and my body thrummed into a melting heat.

“I need you to be a bit lower. Would you be okay with sitting on my lap?”

I started to sit sideways on his thighs, but he guided me in a different direction. “Face me.”

And so, on only the second day I’d ever laid eyes on this man, I straddled his hips and felt the heat of his erection as he laid his mouth to my breasts.

His technique today was a little different. With just the tip of his tongue he touched the tips of my nipples, lightly, teasing them to maximum fullness. My back arched. I gritted my teeth, groaning, thinking the exquisite torture could grow no worse, and then he blew on them.

“Ah!” My whole body jerked. I squeezed his shoulders, hard, twisting both toward and away. When my eyes opened, I saw my sexual counselor was smiling. “You’re enjoying this,” I accused.

He laughed with his eyes. “Shouldn’t I be?”

Then he lifted my breast into his mouth and got down to business. He sucked my teats in lazy succession, rubbing one while he hoovered the other, so both of my breasts were constantly stimulated. It was glorious. I made little noises of pleasure as he worked.

His kaçak bahis eyelashes made a soft fringe against his cheeks. It turned me on to watch his lips, his hands, as he touched my delicate skin. It was frustrating, too. I wanted to return the favor and I sure as hell wanted to feel him inside me, but that was not in the contract.

Could anyone blame me? I tried anyway. I palmed the fly of his jeans. Immediately he lifted his head away from my body and pushed my hand away from his crotch.

The look on his face made my heart sink in my chest. His next words hurt even more.

“Lisa, I’m really sorry, but you know I can’t do that.”

“I’m sorry,” I said instantly.

The mood was gone. He picked up my t-shirt where it lay crumpled on the patio table and draped it over my nudity.

He saw the sadness in my face. “I want to explain this to you so you understand, okay?”

I thought I knew what he was going to say, but it was clear he wanted to talk. I nodded.

“Just because I’m a sex worker doesn’t mean I’m not ethical.” He spoke as if explaining how to ride a bike. “If I sleep with you, that’s theft of service to my boss. It violates the agreement. Do you follow?”

I bobbed my head again. He returned the gesture and continued.

“The other thing that’s important is that, even though what we’re doing here is intimate, a certain” – he waved a hand in the air, as if trying to catch the word – “a certain professionalism applies.”

“You’re telling me not to get attached.”

He nodded, carefully watching my face. “And I’m sorry I came on too strong.”

“Oh!, of course not. I mean,” blushing from embarrassment this time, “I mean, I understand.”

“Do you want me to have Wish send someone else?”

I stood up, now thoroughly humiliated. “No. Mark, I’d like to keep working with you, if that’s okay.”

He stuck out his hand in agreement. We shook. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” As he walked down the steps, he looked over his shoulder. “Don’t forget to put on that cream.”

I went in the house, curled on my beautiful ivory sofa, and had a good cry.

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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