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Along for the Ride

Like all guys worth having (and even some that aren't) he had a girlfriend when I met him. I'm a big sucker for things I can't have. For example, there are those shoes in the back of my closet that are an entire size too small but were marked down 60%. I managed to squeeze my toes into them just long enough to convince the wary salesgirl that I was completely insane. They've sat on a shelf in their box ever since. I guess you could say I'm a bit compulsive.

My ex says I'm neurotic, which I think is a bit hysterical since he's the one who made me that way. A girl can only handle her man having to "work late" so many times before it officially starts to fuck with her brain. Oh, Jesus, I wasn't going to bring him up. This is not His story. This is about Glenn.

Glenn is from Boston -- complete with the accent and attitude to match. On a lot of people, Boston sounds a little trashy but on Glenn it sounds rough around the edges and hot and did I mention that the man works construction? Fuck me three ways from Sunday, I Love a man who can fix things.

Also, I grew up in Denver. It's pretty but it's chock full of people who pronounce their r's. In short, really nothing to write home about, so plop me on a plane seat next to someone from New England and hope to God I packed a fresh pair of panties in my carry-on bag. Coincidentally, this is how Glenn and I first met... sort of.

I was on a flight from New York back to LA, with a layover in Chicago and I was trying to get caught up on some work. I'm a photographer for a magazine in Orange County that promotes the lifestyles of the fakely tanned and obnoxiously wealthy. Sometimes I also got sucked into writing ridiculously dull copy to accompany my artwork, something I was unapologetically behind on. I kept staring at my picture of an Infinity pool with buoy-like fake breasts bobbing on its surface but nothing witty was coming to mind. I guess I should point out that the breasts were accompanied by the rest of a fairly cougarlicious body but trust me, the cleavage was a much bigger selling point than the bra length platinum hair and sixth face lift.

"Douchebag," a tall, well muscled man mumbled under his breath as the flamboyant flight attendant continued to push his cart down the aisle.

I had missed the part of the interaction where the hot guy had been cut off but I found that I just couldn't get back into my work now that I had glanced up and saw well muscled forearms leading to clinched fists with the veins popping out slightly - a sure sign of someone who uses their hands for more than playing piano or typing a term paper.
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Like all guys worth having (and even some that aren't) he had a girlfriend when I met him. I'm a big sucker for things I can't have. For example, there are those shoes in the back of my closet that are an entire size too small but were marked down 60%. I managed to squeeze my toes into them just long enough to convince the wary salesgirl that I was completely insane. They've sat on a shelf in their box ever since. I guess you could say I'm a bit compulsive.

My ex says I'm neurotic, which I think is a bit hysterical since he's the one who made me that way. A girl can only handle her man having to "work late" so many times before it officially starts to fuck with her brain. Oh, Jesus, I wasn't going to bring him up. This is not His story. This is about Glenn.

Glenn is from Boston -- complete with the accent and attitude to match. On a lot of people, Boston sounds a little trashy but on Glenn it sounds rough around the edges and hot and did I mention that the man works construction? Fuck me three ways from Sunday, I Love a man who can fix things.

Also, I grew up in Denver. It's pretty but it's chock full of people who pronounce their r's. In short, really nothing to write home about, so plop me on a plane seat next to someone from New England and hope to God I packed a fresh pair of panties in my carry-on bag. Coincidentally, this is how Glenn and I first met... sort of.

I was on a flight from New York back to LA, with a layover in Chicago and I was trying to get caught up on some work. I'm a photographer for a magazine in Orange County that promotes the lifestyles of the fakely tanned and obnoxiously wealthy. Sometimes I also got sucked into writing ridiculously dull copy to accompany my artwork, something I was unapologetically behind on. I kept staring at my picture of an Infinity pool with buoy-like fake breasts bobbing on its surface but nothing witty was coming to mind. I guess I should point out that the breasts were accompanied by the rest of a fairly cougarlicious body but trust me, the cleavage was a much bigger selling point than the bra length platinum hair and sixth face lift.

"Douchebag," a tall, well muscled man mumbled under his breath as the flamboyant flight attendant continued to push his cart down the aisle.

I had missed the part of the interaction where the hot guy had been cut off but I found that I just couldn't get back into my work now that I had glanced up and saw well muscled forearms leading to clinched fists with the veins popping out slightly - a sure sign of someone who uses their hands for more than playing piano or typing a term paper. I sat there checking out the curve of his bicep peeking out from underneath the short sleeve of his t-shirt and began visualizing him fixing a roof or gutting a wall with a sledge hammer.

He turned to glare at the retreating cart and I caught a glimpse of his face. He wore a Red Sox ball cap, which left just the sideburns and bottom of his dark brown hair visible. He also had thick eyebrows, brown eyes and luscious red lips... I let out a sexually frustrated sigh and began to contemplate sucking on his bottom lip. I guess I forgot to quit staring in his direction as I did so though because after a minute I felt someone tap me on my shoulder.

"A picture lasts longer sweetheart," a higher pitched voice informed me. Allow me to clarify a point. I love, love, love the Boston accent on men. On women it sounds masculine and terrible and really really unattractive. Of course, I also don't fantasize about joining the mile high club with women, so maybe that has something to do with it.

"Excuse me?" I was really into my day dream envisioning the guy in nothing but a tool belt and I was having a hard time pulling myself back into the present.

"You're fucking drooling over my boyfriend and I think it's only fair to let you know that if you don't cut that shit out, I'm gonna kick your fucking ass."

Quite the mouth on this one, let me tell you. Finally my eyes were able to focus in on her face. She was sitting in the seat next to me, across the aisle from the hot guy. If they were together, why weren't the sitting next to each other? Well, I guess technically they were... maybe they just both loved aisle seats. She was skinny with unnaturally jet black hair and enough eyeliner to supply the Playboy mansion on Halloween. Minus her god awful accent and poor makeup choices, she was probably decent to look at, if you went for that whole "please feed me a sandwich while you search for my ass" look. I contemplated forming an excuse but what was the point? I Had been checking out her boyfriend, assuming she wasn't lying about their relationship. I wasn't about to polygraph her. I kind of like my nose where it is, you know? I just mumbled sorry and buried my likable nose back into my work.

The next few minutes I got to hear them argue back and forth, his deep sexy voice telling her she was rude, her nasally annoying tone calling me all kinds of names. Apparently he won the argument because she got up and went to the bathroom looking incredibly displeased.

"Hey, sorry about that. She can be a real bitch some times," he said to me once she was out of earshot.

"Don't sweat it. If you were mine, I'd fight off random passengers too," I smiled. Ok, so I'm a flirt. It's probably going to result in me getting my ass kicked, but he was just so... productive looking. "I'm sorry for staring at you and causing you to fight with your girlfriend. It's pretty rude."

He raised one eyebrow at me. Oh GOD, I love that. Big lips and the ability to move his eyebrows independently of each other... Even retelling the story I feel the need for a little Me time, "So you were staring at me? You're awfully ballsy to just come out and say so. You must be from New York."

"Not a chance," I answered shaking my head in a way that caused my straight red hair to sway slightly, "I'm a Cali girl. Well, these days anyway. My name's Parker, by the way."

"Glenn," he said reaching out a hand to shake mine. Oh God, the calluses on his hands made me tingle.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see his girlfriend emerge from the bathroom. Immediately I shrunk back into my seat.

"Glenn, I don't really fancy getting my ass kicked just now. I'm going to get back to my work, but it was really nice to meet you."

He was unable to answer because she had nearly made it back to her seat. I remember wondering why I'd had the opportunity to meet him when he was clearly taken and didn't even live in the same city. If he'd been unattached at least we could have hooked up during the layover in Chicago, but as it was, it seemed pretty pointless.

As luck would have it, we both found ourselves standing in line for a slice of deep dish pizza in Chicago while his girlfriend chatted on her cell phone near the terminal.

"So what's her name?" I asked. I don't normally chat guys up about their girlfriends but I couldn't think of anything else off the top of my head.

"Her name's Miranda. We've been together a couple years and she still always thinks I'm gonna cheat on her. I haven't. I don't do that."

"Hey, you don't have to convince me. I wasn't offering," I giggled. Trust me, if I hadn't have been so afraid of Miranda, I would have offered.

"So you live in LA, huh? We're heading out there for a wedding -- some friend of Randi's from high school. I'm just along for the ride."

"Where you staying?"

"Anaheim. Her friend is getting married at Disneyland of all places. For fuck's sake, who does that?"

"Seriously, did you really just say you were along for the ride and then casually announce that you're headed to Disneyland? Wow..."

He tried to defend himself but I mocked him anyway. Hell, I'm certainly not the best writer but even I could do better than that. Dear God. We chatted for a few more minutes and I swear, I don't normally try to pick up guys who are taken, but I just really wanted him. I handed him my business card and told him to call me if he got Mickey Moused out. I walked away quickly before I could get too embarrassed and take it back.

Back in the OC, I forgot all about him. Ok, that's not exactly true. I snapped a covert picture of him on my cell phone when he wasn't looking as we stood around waiting for our baggage and then went home and masturbated like crazy, looking at it. After that though, I decided to clear him out of my brain. Just because I'd been recently dumped didn't mean I was despearate... well, not completely anyway.

I was shocked when a few days later he called my office.

"Hey Parker, it's Glenn, the guy from the plane."

As if I wouldn't recognize the accent or the voice.

"Oh hey, how was the wedding?" I asked trying to think of a reason why he would still be in LA.

"We broke up. Oh, sorry, the wedding was ok. We got in a fight, for the billionth time and I finally left her. It was a long time coming. Plus, I can't stop thinking about you."

"Welcome to my club," I thought, but didn't say. Suddenly all of my brazen flirting techniques were gone. He wasn't taken anymore. This could really be game on.

"Really?" I asked, biting my lip.

"Yeah. Really. Any chance we can hang out tonight?"

I quickly arranged to meet him later that evening and promptly called my boss to let him know I was sick and going home early. I needed to shower and shave and generally girl up and there was no way I was going to get any work done now anyway.

By the time I heard a knock on my door, I had transformed from artsy photographer jeans into a cute sundress and heels. My makeup was perfect and my apartment was the tidiest it had been in weeks. I opened the door trying to think of something witty to say.

Just on the other side, standing in my doorway, there he was... looking at me like he was imagining licking whip cream off of every inch of my body. Words escaped me, so I just leaned in and kissed him. His lips against mine felt searing and his tongue in my mouth was equally scorching. I felt him lift me up to pull me closer to him and I wrapped my legs around his waist, letting him carry me backwards into my apartment.

With one hand supporting my back, his other slid its way under the hem of my dress, over my thighs and up my stomach. I shivered as he reached the lace of my bra, finding a taut nipple beneath it which he pinched lightly before leaning me up against the wall and pinning me against it. With his other hand now relieved of the duty of holding me up, he traced a finger across my cheek and caressed my swollen lips. His eyes said he wanted to be inside me, to fuck me hard, right there without a word but his fingers said he wanted to play. I was down for either option. I was already ready, wet and more than willing and I didn't even know his last name.

He brought his lips back down to mine, stealing any inclination to talk and robbing me of the ability to breathe. By the time he lifted his head again, I was panting and moaning, needing to feel his skin against mine. Unwrapping my legs, I fought to stand, though he had to steady me for a bit as my knees were actually weak. I couldn't remember the last time I had been kissed into insensibility.

He reached out and ran his hand through my hair but I was busy finding the buttons of his shirt. I unfastened them as quickly as my trembling fingers would allow. My God, he was beautiful. He obviously spent quite a bit of time in the gym. No sooner did I have his button down shirt open then I ripped it off and helped him out of the white t-shirt beneath it. The muscles in his bare chest twitched reflexively as I ran my fingers over his pecs, his biceps, his abs and teasingly beneath the waist of his jeans.

A quiet groan escaped his lips as he whispered my name. Just hearing him say it made me crazy with wanting him. I pushed him towards my couch and paused long enough to unzip my dress and step out of it. I still had on heels, a bra and panties and I could tell from the sparkle in his eyes that the combination really worked for him. I sat in his lap, straddling his legs and kissed him again while slowly grinding my pussy over the bulge in his jeans.

His hands slid behind me and unclasped my bra. I giggled because I could see over his shoulder that we hadn't managed to close the front door in our haste to touch and taste each other. His hands cupped my tits, as if weighing their fullness before lowering his mouth to flick his tongue over my dark pink nipple. I gasped as I felt the heat of his mouth and caressed his face while holding his head to my tit, watching as he sucked on first one nipple and then the next.

With his hands he stopped the motion of my hips and traced up my inner thigh to the lace of my panties. Sliding the cloth to the side, he rubbed his fingers along the wetness readily available and then raised his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean. I was so turned on, I thought I was going to explode but he returned his fingers to my cunt, tracing my lips, finding my clit and finally shoving two fingers inside of me, fucking me with his hand as he sucked on my neck.

My hips moved in time with the thrusts of his fingers and he slid me off his lap to lay on the couch so that he could get a better angle. Pausing for a moment to remove my panties altogether he looked down at my naked body and exhaled the sigh of a man who needs to bury himself inside a woman and hear her scream his name. He stood and removed his jeans and boxers in one quick motion before rejoining me on the couch. I was torn between wanting to stroke his thick cock, wanting him to lick my pussy and wanting him to fuck me so hard I wouldn't be able to walk for a week. Reaching for him, I found his perfect cock pushing into my leg as he leaned down to kiss me again, the weight of his body pressing me back into the cushions of my couch. I stroked him as he kissed my cheek, my jaw, my neck and back down to my nipples. His eyes looked directly into mine, seeking confirmation before he positioned himself at the entrance to my wet warm cunt. I nodded and he thrust inside me feverishly, filling me up and causing me to moan with such pleasure I was sure that I could be heard 10 apartments down.

Our bodies fell into a rhythm as he pumped in and out of me. The slick sound of my juices sliding between our bodies spurred us on until we were both panting, moaning and biting. My fingernails scratched across his back as the length of him stroked inside me. Mindlessly I bucked my hips, racing alongside that feeling that my body was going to burst into a thousand pieces. He whispered to me to say his name and I screamed it as I came. I came hard and it seemed like forever before I could focus on anything other than the sense that every nerve in my body had been pleasurably tweaked. I watched as he continued to fuck me, even faster until I felt him cum inside me, filling me with his warm load as he leaned down to kiss me again.

"Hi," I whispered, highly amused that we hadn't gotten around to the simple greeting.

"Yeah, I guess we skipped that part. Hi - so lovely to see you again."

"So does Disneyland have any rides that match this attraction?"

"Hardly, although I'd have to go again to be sure."

"Whatever you say, Glenn, I'm just along for the ride."
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Author: makerboy112
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