Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
I flip open the cover and the device springs to life. I tap on the internet browser and navigate to my favorite porn site, Porn Hole.
Propping open the iPad on the case stand, I navigate through the available videos, looking for something promising. Here's one. Play.
I slip a hand into my pajama bottoms and touch myself. I rub my clit with the tips of two fingers. The blood rushes to my clit as I play with myself. Wait. This girl's voice is so
annoying. I'm only two minutes into this video and already my ears hurt. I wonder if this guy is wearing ear plugs. Mute.
I forward to the penetration. That's what I like. I watch as the man on screen slides into the woman. By the contorted look on her face I'm glad I muted her already. The camera zooms in
on where they're joined. I watch him slide in and out. He's average-sized, based on my limited porn-viewing research. Maybe a little bigger than Scott.
I rub my clit vigorously in rhythm to the couple on screen. That looks like it feels good. The in and out, her body stretching to accommodate his. I wonder how big Mike is. I haven't
sucked him off. After two years of giving Scott blow jobs with no return favors, I'm not exactly in a rush.
I bet Luke is bigger than this guy on screen. He looks like he'd be substantial. I wonder what Luke would feel like inside of me? His finger felt snug.
I rub harder and use my other hand to pinch my breast. I imagine that it's his fingers touching me. It felt nice when he touched me on the exam table, but it was clinical. I squeeze my
breast, imagining it's Luke grabbing me roughly. His hands are so much bigger than mine. Stronger.
There was a moment on the exam table when his finger was inside of me, and his thumb swiped across my clit. I clench at the memory.
He's a big guy. Solid. Muscular. More filled out than a college guy. What would it feel like to have him inside of me? It wouldn't be comfortable at first. I know that. But after, after
he stroked back and forth, easing into my body. After he sank himself inside of me all the way, my body stretching to accommodate him. After I adjusted to the invasion and he started to
really move. What would that feel like with Luke?
Would he bend me over and use my hips to anchor himself as he thrust in and out? Or would he lay me on my back and part my thighs? Settle between them, resting his upper body on his
forearms and sucking at my tits as he thrust?
I come.
Thinking about Luke.
Not my boyfriend, Mike.
Did I think about Mike once? I try to recall. Disgusted with myself, I grab my shower supplies and head to the communal bathroom at the end of the hall.
* * *
I hang my damp towel on my closet door and slip into a pair of old faded jeans before pulling a long-sleeved powder-blue tee shirt over my head. Pulling my still-damp hair over one
shoulder, I braid the end of it and secure it with an elastic, then shove my feet into an old pair of Ugg boots, sans socks. I've had these things for years, a Christmas present from my
grandparents back in high school.
Grabbing a textbook, I take a seat at my desk and crack it open. This is so dull. I'm tapping my pen against the desk when my phone chirps, like I've missed a call. I pick it up, seeing
I've missed three calls, all from my grandmother's cell phone number.
My heart races a little. Why would she call me three times in a row? It looks like I missed all three calls while I was in the shower. I hit play. The first message is a hang up,
followed by a message from my grandmother asking me to call her. The third is my grandmother again. "Sophie, it's Gram. Your grandfather slipped on a ladder cleaning the gutters. I'm
sure everything will be fine, but we’re at Baldwin Memorial getting him checked out.” She sounds a little distressed. "I'm sure it's fine." The message ends.
Oh, no. I check the call log. She called forty minutes ago. I hit the call back button and pace to the window. Answer, answer, answer. Please answer.
"Hello?"
"Grandma!" I'm so relieved to be speaking with her and not her voicemail.
"Oh, Sophie, good. You got my messages."
"What happened? Is Grandpa okay? What happened?" I'm firing off questions without giving her time to answer.
"He insisted on cleaning out those damn gutters himself and slipped off the ladder. He hit his head and blacked out for a minute. The hospital is going to scan to make sure his back and
neck are okay."