Electing For her Curves

As long as I’m next to Krystal, I don’t really care about anything else.

He walks me through the place, and I familiarize myself with the layout as well as the timetable he gives me.

“If you can be here as early as you can tomorrow, there’ll be a lot of locals you’ll wanna meet,” he explains.

I don’t know about wanting to meet anyone right now or tomorrow.

“There’s an office for each candidate in the main building, where you can freshen up and change before the event,” he tells me, showing me through the rest of the place before being called away again.

“Sorry, Mr. Silverthorn. Million things to do. If you get stuck I’m here to help.”

I stare at him for a moment, “It’s Jules by the way,” he says reassuringly before disappearing in a whirl of turning pages on his clipboard as he murmurs calmly into his Bluetooth headset.

“I’ll find my own way out,” I mumble to myself, knowing that’s not true either.

I decide to poke around some and find the Mayor’s official office unlocked, and I figure I may as well have a look-see.

Nothing over the top, it is a small town after all.

But the photographs on the desk are what undo me.

They are of Krystal, one a few years ago with her leaning over her dad from behind. Hugging him while on what looks like a vacation.

The other is her graduation photograph.

Both have me thinking about her more than ever. My own thoughts turning to when her hand pressed against my throbbing dick while my whole world was filled with her warmth and the smell of her hair.

My phone buzzes, it’s the hired help looking to collect the leaflets and other ad material from my office.

“It should be unlocked,” I tell them absently, hanging up once I hear they’re inside and have what they need to get on with the job.

Good old country living. You can leave your doors unlocked and folks will still call to ask if it’s alright before they walk inside.

I feel myself flush a little with embarrassment, having just walked into the Mayor’s office uninvited, but replacing the picture of Krystal I’ve picked up and studied for some time now, I know it’s an exception and not the rule.

I find my way out again and like in a dream, with the image and memory of Krystal so fresh in my mind, I drive aimlessly until I find myself parked right out front of her house.

The Mayor’s residence too, as well as his home office and campaign center which looks eerily quiet considering there’s a town election in a couple of days’ time.

I could call, make an excuse to drop by. But I kill the motor and just sit quietly, studying the upstairs windows and wondering which room might be Krystal’s.

Wondering just how much longer I can contain this feeling inside. How much longer I can pretend that what’s rightfully mine is in another man’s house, even if he is her father.

It’s almost dark before the lights of another vehicle make me shift my attention from the house to the road.

A van.

Delivery guy.

The huge gift basket I’d ordered, one for each of my fellow candidates.

Mayor Newland swings his door open, and after accepting his delivery he glances around, scowling before he slams the front door.

The delivery guy will be back in the morning, but that’s not why I’m here.

I ordered the baskets before I even left the city, just being nice.

What’s drawn me here this evening is the ache I feel inside. The pain of being separated from Krystal.

Since meeting her, since feeling her body so close to mine and almost having my mouth on hers, it’s impossible for me to think about anything else now.

I can’t see much of anything that’s going on inside her house, but it’s all I can do to be closer to her by parking out front on the corner.

I have a clear view of both the front and side of the house, telling myself it’s as much as I can do right now to watch over her unless I want to risk trouble by letting myself in.

The trouble coming if I get caught that is.

That would be too much to endanger my position with Krystal right now, although it is tempting.

Chapter Seven

Krystal

The days leading up to the town election for Mayor are usually the best for my dad. He’s usually in such a good mood.

This year everything’s different and I know why as well as he does, but he won’t admit it.

Not that I feel like pressing him either. I’ve never seen him so grouchy as well as on edge, barking at me when I ask him what he’d like for dinner with the final straw being when we both hear the doorbell.

“I’ll get it,” I squeal, leaping up from behind my desk and almost skipping to the door before he stops me.