Lucky This Isn't Real

I started moving my fingers in gentle circles around my outer lips, the pleasure already rushing through me. I thought about Gavin, of course– it had been impossible to think about anyone else since this morning.

I had only spent a little time with him, but the image of him was etched in my mind. I thought about the bulge of his massive cock pressing up against the zipper of his jeans, yearning to be free. I tried to picture his dick, which I knew would be absolutely magnificent.

Continuing to stroke circles around my clit, I imagined getting down on my knees in front of him and wrapping my hand around his throbbing shaft. After giving it a few gentle strokes, I imagined opening my mouth and sucking him in, swallowing his cock inch by inch, until the head hit the back of my throat. I would keep my eyes locked on his throughout the entire time.

Sliding a finger into my pulsing channel, I imagined sucking him hard until he shot all his cum into my mouth. After taking a moment just to savor its thick sweetness, I would swallow every drop down.

Slipping another finger inside me, I imagined turning around and getting on all fours, giving my pussy and ass up to him, not caring which one he decided to use, the very fact of his entering me making me feel amazing, no matter how he did it. To make sure I was ready, Gavin would bury his face in my pussy and lick masterfully until I screamed.

I imagined myself collapsing and panting after a mind-blowing orgasm. I was now doing some pretty hard panting in real life. Taking me gently by the hips, Gavin would lift me back into doggy position and stroke the warm head of his cock against my pussy.

I automatically took a deep breath in and let it slowly out as I pictured him easing the flared head of his gorgeous cock deep into my pussy and fucking me like our lives depended on it.

I slipped another finger into myself and pounded like I imagined Gavin pounding his cock in, bringing myself to orgasm on the bed as I imagined reaching orgasm on his cock, his precious nectar filling my most delicate spot.

It felt so good I wanted it to come true. And I had a feeling it would.

One way or another, Gavin would make sweet Irish love to me.

Chapter Seven – Gavin

Reality could be a funny old place sometimes. I had the fortune of learning that lesson young and was adjusting to it fairly well, making it my default position. As such, it really did take quite a lot to genuinely surprise me these days, not in the least because of the absurdity I grew up in during the tail end of The Troubles.

When the fish and chip shop up the street had a roughly forty percent chance of being bombed on any given Friday (known as “Fish Friday” among Catholics) by people whose religion was different from yours, you got used to absurdity pretty damn quick. Bomb scares and controlled explosions were a daily part of life, as was seeing British soldiers out on daily patrols through the streets.

I was glad The Troubles had mostly ended by the time my younger brothers were making their way up in the world, and the least they had to worry about was getting jumped by low-level thugs and drug dealers with makeshift weapons. People made Los Angeles sound dangerous, but they had no idea.

Then again, America hadn’t quite had the streets paved with gold like I had been led to believe. More like sidewalks scattered with people. Or maybe that was just L.A.

I had heard enough jokes about “Hell-A” to know not to judge the entire country, or even the entire state, by one example. I certainly knew what it was like to be stereotyped. Besides, there were lots of good things, too, such as the fact that L.A. was where a career in acting could be made, and it was also where Maggie lived.

This was admittedly a new addition to the positive column on my list of good points but it was also a noticeably big one. I couldn’t get the girl out of my mind. She was so perfect for me.

It seemed almost like a dream. The somewhat absurd circumstances of our meeting didn’t help to ground it in reality.

I might have actually thought it was a dream had it not been for the quite physical evidence of the piece of paper with her name and phone number burning a hole in my back pocket. I wanted to call her so bad I could taste it, but I didn’t want to come across as desperate.

I was desperate, of course, not only to get into her panties and feel her sweet, tight little pussy, but also to talk and laugh with her again. But there was no reason that she needed to know that. I had to play it cool.