Sort of like me.
I met Jayson at a local coffee shop when my net book and I were on the outs. My net book was of the opinion that it didn’t need to turn on. I had other plans for it. When Jayson walked in and ordered his tea and tuna sandwich on a bagel, I was slamming my computer into the marble of the table. Jayson, tea in one hand, sandwich in the other, stood over me, an amused expression on his face.
“Perhaps you should stop banging it on the table. I don’t think that’s going to help”.
I glanced up at him. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. Who are you?”
Jayson rested his tea and sandwich on the shelf behind my table, next to the historical fiction novels. He knelt and gently, slowly, took the computer out of my hands and smiled.
He had the prettiest white teeth I had ever seen, framed by succulent lips.
Wow.
Still kneeling, he turned the computer to him, and, with strong dark chocolate hands that belied his average height and stature, flicked the switch on the front. He turned the computer back to me and quietly placed it back on the table. “Try it now”. I looked at him skeptically. “You still haven’t answered my question…Who are you?” He smiled again, two rows of pearly white teeth, perfect in shape, sending their warmth my way. “I’m Jayson. Try to turn it on now”. I raised my eyebrow, but turned the computer on again.
It came on without a problem. I looked up at him, stunned.
He chuckled. “I have the same net book. When I first got it, I would make the mistake of turning the wireless off, so it wouldn’t turn on. When I saw you trying to destroy your computer, I was pretty sure you had made the same mistake that I did”. I nodded in agreement. “Nice. I surely didn’t realize it…this is the first net book I’ve ever had”. I gestured to my pad and pencil, neatly next to my now functioning net book. “I’m an old fashioned girl”.
I should’ve known at that moment that Jayson was going to be a blessing and a curse all at once.
He glanced over at my pad and noted, “You’re a writer?” I nodded. He picked up the pad and, before I could even get a chance to take it from him, he looked over what I wrote. Then, he reached for the pencil on my table, and, swiftly, scribbled something on the paper, struck some lines out, and handed it back to me.
If looks could kill, Jayson would have collapsed right in front of me.
“What…did you just do?” I asked. He winked. “I made you better”.
Then he walked away.
I don’t think I could’ve been more incensed if he had taken my baby out of my hands and ran away. You don’t just…edit another writer’s work without their consent. Hell, editors will tell you, it is their job to edit work …and writers still get upset when they see those proverbial ‘red marks’. Erykah Badu put it best: “Now you know I’m an artist…and I’m sensitive about my shit…”
I was pissed. I was mad. I was about to go over there and tell him the hell about himself. I was…
I read what he wrote. He took my words, spaced them out, and gave them definition with a simple line break. Plus he left his number.
He was a damn genius. Now I was even madder.
He was a genius who had violated my writing pad with two scribbles…an infuriating genius with pretty teeth, great lips, a strong hand, and, I noticed after wards, a broad back.
Thus began the journey that Jayson and I took together. Both writers, our stories ranged from his relationship tinged sagas to real life advice, to my historical fiction and ask the expert series. But what drew us to each other, what caused us the most pleasurable pain, was the erotica that tied us both. We would fight often, simply to make up and pen our sordid tales.
He would leave post-its on my desk in my home office, uncompleted lines of sensual cloze that required an orgasmic conclusion. Sometimes, I would take my fine tipped Sharpie pen and fill in the blanks, my pen the foreplay, my written kisses leaving permanent flurries on his brain, his earmarked book full of my erotic notes.
His words were maddening, his arrogance both repulsive and appealing. And yet…we had never slept together…until that night…
I took my newly re-edited book to the publisher for review and marking. Leaving the building, I saw Jayson, leaned against the building, quietly waiting for something, what, I didn’t know. I looked at him. His eyes, brown and doe like, were intense as they burned a hole in my chest. I glared back at him, still unwilling to yield to what I saw as an adverse travesty. I was used to Jayson telling me that my writing was amazing but that my placement of words was paltry at best. I was accustomed to him switching my words around, simply to make them better.
This last edit was unforgiveable.
He took the book that took me ages to finish and deleted all of the editor’s notes in the margin, replacing them with some of his own. His reason? “Your editor sucks, kid”. It took everything in me not to throttle him right then and there. He stared at me as the sky threatened us both, taunting us to move with its rumble. I stared back at him.
The sky cracked another warning.
Coming off of the wall, he glared at me.
I glared back at him.
“They loved the changes, didn’t they.” His statement was plaintive, so self assured that he was right, he was beyond arrogance.
I was beyond incensed. I blew up.
“What the fuck, man? It’s not about whether they liked the shit or not! It’s about you always changing my shit! What, am I not good enough? What is your fucking problem?” Jayson simply stared at me, as he tended to do when I had my moments. I glared at him as the first rain drop hit my face. Then another. Quietly, he stepped closer to me, his graphic tee becoming just as wet as the graphics on it implied.
He leaned in and gently licked a drop from my rain kissed lip.
I shuddered. I was still mad. I was even madder that I was wet – and it had nothing to do with the rain.
“They loved the changes. Didn’t they”.
It began to pour.
A low guttural sound came from the base of my throat as his lips touched it, my head nodding slightly to the affirmative, even as I stopped thinking about my story. I felt like I was in a living cliché, being kissed in the rain. All I could concentrate on was the feel of his lips, soft and tender, placing delicately strong kisses along my neck bone, his hands writing his version of diction on my curves, reading me like I was his first book.
The way he knew my work incensed me. The way he knew my body aroused me.
I pushed him away slightly. “What…what are you doing…we should really go…”
He chuckled at me, as he often did. “You don’t want to go anywhere. You want to stay right here…don’t you?”
His hands held me in place. I could feel him, curved and hung to the right…that solid part of him, pressed against me, playing with me through the barrier of our clothes.
The droplets of water trickling down my back from the rain reminded me of something I’d read once. I enjoyed a good fantasy, but as a writer, I found myself creating the fantasy for others. There were very few people that could create the fantasy for me. Jayson introduced me to writers who ‘fucked with their pen’ the same way I did. The same way he did.
He looked me in the eyes. He gripped my bottom lip with his. He kept looking into my eyes.
He sucked on it. Whispering against it, he rasped, “Didn’t you tell me this was your fantasy?”
The sky cracked. It rained harder.
He kissed me and I saw stars. Cliché, but true. I kissed him back, unsure at first. We had only written about our passion. Even in his correction, even in his line breaks of my written work, never did I imagine that I would be in this moment. Never did I think that he was paying attention to more than just my work.
His hands moved their way under my dress, soaked as it was. I gripped the drenched collar of his button down shirt, took his earlobe into my mouth and gently nibbled. Strong and deft fingers found my delta. Chocolate hands rubbed against freshly waxed deep caramel skin. I kissed him under his earlobe. He pulled back from my kisses and looked at me, lust deep in his brown eyes.
“You’re not wearing any underwear”.
I smiled a gentle smile.
He kissed me again, his tongue probing my mouth, his fingers exploring the bare expanse of skin unadorned by its usual lacy accoutrement. He found my clit and I gasped on his lip. I let my hands run down his back, my fingers finding their way down to his waist. He whispered, his succulent lip against mine, “this one is for you”.
He wrote his name across my clit with his index finger. I gasped audibly.
He shushed me, him pressing me against the brick wall of the building his gentle reminder of where we were. His ring finger entered me…stroking me gently…his other finger telling a story…his lips narrating our sordid outdoor tale.
He added another finger to the party. I squirmed…fought with the urge to cry out. He chuckled softly.
“Don’t squirm”.
I felt my body arch as his fingers moved in me, my clit humming its own tune. The orgasm snuck up on me…crept through my groin…made my legs weak, his gentle thrusts going deep, catching my vibrations, cupping me.
He moved his fingers one by one.
I was right there.
Fighting the urge to cry out, I grabbed his shirt harder, my clit throbbing, crying out for release. I kissed him…hard. I felt his smirk against my lips. He uttered, softness to softness…”you ready yet?” I nodded furiously, my body curving to his, my lower half craving him. He chuckled. “Are you ready to come?” I gasped, “please…”
He looked me in my eyes. “Please who?”
I groaned. He shushed me, shaking his head. “Please who…?”
I whispered, “Jayson…Jayson, please…”
He chuckled again. I screamed inwardly. Infuriating bastard.
His whole hand cupped me, applied gentle pressure. I ground my clit into him, desperate for release. He moved his hand away. “Stop that. Pay attention for once”. I dug my nails into his wet back. He grabbed both my hands with his free hand, placed them over my head with one motion, his other hand resuming his story – cupping me, alternately stroking me, teasing that swollen part of me, bringing me back to the brink…
Jayson’s voice startled me. I fell out of the chair, my knee grazing my desk as I fell.
He stared at me, shaking his head as he held his hand out to pull me up.
I fell asleep? When? Last I remembered, Jayson had come over to look over my latest manuscript that I was submitting for publishing.
I looked at him, still half in a daze, as he dropped my manuscript on my desk. “I read through your manuscript. Not bad, but you still can’t do a line break for shit. And your editor sucks”. He pulled on his coat and left, calling behind him, “let me know how it goes tomorrow”. Still in a daze, I picked up the manuscript and thumbed through it.
I paused.
He had changed all the editor’s notes in the margin.
Twitter| http://twitter.com/#!/KayeMichele
Blog| http://strokeofprose.com/
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