Blind Date Teddy Bear

I hugged and kissed her goodbye, then stepped out and shut the door behind me.

Trevor gave me a big smile and said, jokingly, “Wow, your mother’s really protective of you. What’s your father like?”

“About the same, but less flirty.”

Trevor opened the door of his vehicle, a sporty and very tall truck, and said, “I bet he’s nice. Nikki’s a real sweetheart at the office, so it’s no surprise her family is so cool.”

I stared at the big step up to the seat of the truck.

“That’s a big truck,” I said. It was a long way, and with my short legs combined with my tight skirt, me getting in on my own wasn’t going to happen.

“It’s practical,” he said. “Because of the business. Sometimes I have to pitch in and haul equipment on or off a work site, or signage. Lots of signage.”

We stood there making small talk about signage and cargo space for a few minutes, until finally I said, “You’re going to have to lift me up into your big truck.”

He glanced down at my little feet, in my ballet flats, and laughed—a big, hearty, manly laugh, like oh-ho-ho, but not in a Santa Claus way.

Then he swept me up, in his arms, cradling me. He picked me up as easily as a bag of chips, and my heart skipped a little. I thought of kissing him on those red-hued lips of his, being tickled by his dark mustache and beard hair. I’d never kissed anyone with facial hair before, and I wondered …

He set me into the leather seat and lingered, giving me a good smell of him. The vehicle smelled new and leathery, and Trevor smelled like the smallest hint of cologne and something else, like a moisturizer or a hair product, that made me think he’d had a shower right before picking me up.

We locked gazes. He had orange-brown eyes, flecked with black and gold, and his pupils were dilated, hungry for me. Very interested.

His chest rumbled with his deep voice as he withdrew his hands from under my legs and behind my back, saying, “Comfy? Need any help with the seat belt?”

I fought the urge to grab his cheeks in my hands and kiss him right there. “I got it, thanks.”

He closed my door gently and walked around to his side.

That pause.

That pause when you’re in the vehicle’s passenger seat, and your date is walking around to the driver’s side. Isn’t that the greatest five seconds ever?

It’s a beginning.

It’s full of possibilities.

I rubbed my thighs together.

He was so hot, so f**king hot and manly, and all those things I didn’t know I even wanted.

But it had been a long time for me.

My last boyfriend had come out as g*y not long after we split up (this happened about a year earlier), which had made me question my entire dating approach. I didn’t trust my instincts anymore. Couldn’t trust my heart or that naughty pu**y between my legs. My pu**y always wanted things that were wrong for me, wanted sex immediately, without taking time.

So, I’d taken a vow of chastity, and so far I’d kept it. Without sex or a man in my life, I’d had plenty of time for other things, like my job, and drawing and … nothing quite as good as sex.

The driver’s side door opened, and he stepped easily into his seat with those long legs. As Trevor put the keys in the ignition, he turned and gave me this flirty look, this look that said we weren’t going to dinner after all, but back to his place. And he was going to tear off my clothes and f**k me until I became addicted to his sex, his petite sex slave, begging for his cock, day and night, dressing up in corsets and kinky boots and sashaying in front of him to distract him from the TV and whatever else he liked to do.

He said, “Whatcha thinkin’ about there, Naomi?”

“Stuff.”

He drove down the street, looking carefully before crossing intersections, and stopping for pedestrians. “What kinda stuff?”

I licked my lips. “Just that I haven’t been on a date in a long time.”

He glanced over at me. Oh, he knew what I meant by date.

With that sexy, deep voice, he said, “How long has it been?”

I tensed my thighs, pulsing them while I thought. “Hmm, maybe … almost a year, I guess.” It was October, so it had been ten months since that awful Christmas.

“Did Nikki tell you I’m divorced?”

Did she? I couldn’t remember anything. I hadn’t been paying attention. “Honestly, Trevor, she told me a bunch of stuff, but I wasn’t listening, because I thought you were going to be gross.”

He laughed. “Gross. Thanks. I assume by saying that, you are telling me I’m not gross.”

I glanced around the interior of the vehicle, looking for clues about Trevor. The truck’s cab was rental-clean, with no clues. “You’re hunky,” I said.

“Hunky!” He slapped the steering wheel and laughed. “You mean chunky, right?”

I glanced down at his mid-section, from what I could see under his button-down shirt, what wasn’t covered by his leather jacket. He wasn’t the skinniest guy in the world, and a few years older than me, maybe thirty, but he looked good. He looked cuddly, like a teddy bear.

“No, not chunky. I said hunky. Take a compliment, Trevor. You told me I was cute, and I took the compliment, even though I don’t feel cute all the time.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “I’m hunky. I can live with that.” He tapped on the steering wheel, in rhythm with the song on the radio. “A cute girl says I’m hunky.”

I folded my hands on my lap and tried not to think about his dick. And how big it might be.

He had some pretty big boots on those feet of his. And his hands were a good size. I’d only been with men who had small hands and feet not much larger than mine. Shorter guys were always into me because they were taller than me.

If Trevor’s boots were that much bigger than my ballet slippers, I wondered if we’d even fit together, if his c**k would get all the way into me. I’d never used a big sex toy inside myself, so I had no idea. But I wanted to try.

He said, “Now whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“How hungry I am.”

“Great!” He turned the truck into a parking lot and parked. We were at a place I’d never been inside, a restaurant called Hank’s Bar and Grill. Don’t let the name fool you, though, this was no dive, no greasy spoon diner. It was actually a high-end seafood place, the type with tiny portions on big plates, or so I’d heard.

He said, “I come here with a lot of business clients. I wine ’em and dine ’em and—”

“And sixty-nine ’em!” I finished. As soon as I said it, I felt my face flush red with embarrassment.

He turned off the ignition and turned to me, his face intensely serious. “Not unless they’re cute,” he said.