Messalina: Devourer of Men Read online

  “Evadne Cavell.” Accepting the gesture and ignoring the charcoal smudges on his fingers, his hand encircles mine like a warm glove.

  “Are you here for the show or have you been?” he asks.

  “Both. This is my second time.”

  “You’re an animation buff?”

  “Yes.” I say, slightly embarrassed. “Animation is art.”

  “I agree. It’s what I do, actually.”

  “Really?” I grin. “Any of your . . . work . . . ?”

  Laughing, he shakes his head. His laugh is rich, velvety, with a slight huskiness to it that tells of a history of smoking—recent or past—and the sound has me curling my toes in my shoes with desire.

  “I haven’t attempted film on my own, yet.” He leans back in his seat to make himself comfortable. When he crosses his legs I see cowboy boots coming from beneath faded blue jeans. Not the flashy kind you may expect a country western singer to wear, but boots that are worn and comfortable from use. “You know a bit about art, then?”

  “I was an art history major—briefly—until I decided that the best way for me to keep my appreciation is from an amateur’s view.” Smiling, I reach for the sugar dispenser and sense his eyes watching my every move. “I teach at Bellingham College.”

  “Ah . . . the land of the Bellingham Bucks.”

  “Yes,” I sigh dramatically. Bellingham is a private college of about 2,800 students where the financial aid office is only there for students to get money out of their trust funds or from their parents in amounts too big for an ATM. Our mascot is the mule deer.

  “Listen, Evadne, I can’t sit and watch you try and drink that coffee anymore. I’ll be back.”

  He is heading for the concession stand before I can put down the sugar dispenser leaving me to enjoy the presentation of his ass in his jeans as he walks. He moves with a fluidity of motion that reminds me of something.

  A cat. Not the domestic kind, but one of the big cats walking in long strides. He may call me symmetrical but his features are easy on the eyes too.

  He returns and shifts his chair closer to mine to get out of the sun. He smiles as he presents me with my drink. He’s bought one for himself too. I’m about to blow the steam away and he’s watching me again. I have to close my eyes to drink.

  When I open them, he’s still looking at me. Using a tactic I haven’t felt compelled to use in years, I lick my lips while maintaining his gaze. His eyes follow every movement as the tip of my tongue slides from right to left over my upper lip. My breathing quickens. His vibes are far from subtle, but from the way he sits straight in his chair, he is holding back. Slowly, he raises his eyes to meet mine.

  “I’ve seen you here before, you know.”

  I freeze for a moment, but soon recover then put down my cup. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ve seen you—here—before. Several times.” He takes a sip of his coffee not minding that he’s just uncovered my greatest fear: the fear of discovery. “Frankly, I’m surprised you’re alone.”

  I look at him again, hard, my brain cycling through all the faculty, departmental, and staff meetings to try and place his face. I can’t.

  “Who are you?”

  He laughs but not in a derisive way and turns in his seat to face me. Once again his mouth turns up in a smile making me wonder if his lips are as soft as they look. His knee brushes against my thigh sending a spark of electricity up my spine.

  “Don’t look so scared, Evadne. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “And what secret would that be?”

  “Do you really have to ask?”

  “I think I do.” Even I couldn’t resist smiling as he gives me a knowing look. I twist my upper body in his direction and rest my arm on the back of my chair. As expected, Jared takes in the presentation of my cleavage but only for a moment. “I’m not used to conversation.”

  “Well that’s a shame. A pretty thing like you is bound to have something to say.” He winks and turns away to take another sip of coffee. His lower lip looks full and succulent as it supports the rim of his cup. The muscles in his neck flex as he swallows. I would love to bite that neck. Mark him.

  “Do you think?”

  “Come on, Evadne.” Smiling, he faces me. “Don’t sell yourself short. You may try to look easy, but you’re not. You have taste. I can tell from the films you see—viewing companions not included.” He winks at me again and I get butterflies in my stomach. “You carry yourself like a queen. And girl,” he says, shaking his head, “there are some things you can’t learn off the street.”

  This time it’s my turn to laugh. “You’re very observant.”

  “It’s what I do, darlin’.”

  This time there’s no hint of playfulness in his tone and we sit, taking each other in. For the first time I notice something else about Jared’s gaze. Although clear and open, his eyes are still dark enough as not to give everything away.

  In the silence, we hear the downstairs lobby fill with patrons. He looks back over his shoulder, once again giving me a view of his neck. “The film’s letting out.” He smiles and stands. “Shall we go?”

  “It depends,” I say while taking a napkin to wipe the corner of my mouth. I raise my head to look up at him and give a playful smile. “What do you think of my viewing companion now?”

  In response I am treated to a flash of his white, even teeth in a grin that would melt the resolve of the coldest virgin.

  “I also said you had taste.”

  And with that, he pulls my chair out, places his hand on the small of my back and escorts me downstairs. Maybe it’s a measure of my excitement, but his touch burns through my sweater and beads of sweat form on my skin beneath his touch.

  Inside the theater I estimate about thirty other people have decided to catch this matinee. We take our seats in the center section, four rows from the back. A few minutes later, the lights go out.

  During the film I try to concentrate but can’t help glancing at my watch. It’s been nearly an hour and he hasn’t tried anything. Apart from pushing up the armrest to remove any barrier between us, he hasn’t touched me. We’re just two people enjoying a movie together. But watching a movie with a man who’s not feeling me up is a new experience for me and I can’t help stealing side-glances at him.

  He’s different from other men, that’s for damn sure. He had the balls to come up and start a real conversation, and what a pick-up too. I’ll give him an A+ for that. My palms are sweating and, between my legs, I feel hot and empty—and wet.

  He turns his head and catches me spying. He grins like I just sprang his trap. I turn away. His right arm goes around the back of my seat and he leans over to whisper.

  “Evadne, it’s OK if you look.”

  When I turn in his direction, his face is so close to mine I can feel it when he exhales. The scent of his cologne mixing with the coffee he just drank makes my mouth water. I close the distance. Our kiss is gentle, unhurried and tastes of chocolate and coffee. He gently takes hold of my chin to deepen our kiss.

  “I knew those lips had to be delicious,” he says when we part to take a breath. His hand goes up the back of my neck and into my hair. I lean into the caress, exposing my throat, letting his lips linger on my neck. His tongue tickles along the surging throb of my pulse. I sigh and my hand falls to the side split of my skirt. Pushing the thin material over, I slide my fingers up between my legs.

  His long eyelashes flutter against my throat as he opens his eyes to see what I’m doing. Then I feel his hand, warm and so
ft, reach over to cup under my knee. He crooks my leg over his and I moan softly when he places his hand on mine. What sounds like my voice growls “yes” loud enough for him to take his cue and gently press our fingers inside me.

  My head lolls back against his arm as my private entrance admits us, hand in hand, with my small forefinger next to his long, thick, middle and forefingers. We work together to build a rhythm and his thumb gently rubs the top of my clitoris. My hips jerk up and I gasp. He increases his hold on me while clamping his mouth onto my neck, just like the big cats do to restrain their prey.

  His lips open to suck in the flesh of my neck into his mouth before biting down. His teeth dig in and hold before releasing and repeating the process. He’s found my weak spot. I have a thing for necks and, although they may look trashy, I love hickies. These malignant bruises serve as the calling cards of heavy petting. I love giving and receiving them. But despite his amorous assault on my neck, I get caught up with the feel of his two, three—four—fingers pumping inside me. Aww— fuck ! He’s about to get a real orgasm out of me! It’s evident by the moist, sucking sounds coming from me. I’m almost there.

  “God damn, Evadne, you’re so wet,” he says with such awe it only thrills me more and this time my groan is louder than expected.

  My eyelids pop open and I remember we are not alone. Focusing my eyes, I count less than six people sitting in the rows behind us but they’re on the opposite side of the theater. From what I can tell, they’re all watching the screen. Then I see one man sitting in the row directly behind us but several seats to the left.

  He wears a white T-shirt and stares directly at us, unashamed. Hearing a muted, squelching sound, I glance down and see his lightweight jacket lying across his lap, bobbing up and down.

  Catching my breath, I don’t know whether to stop Jared and bring the man to his attention. But he’s about to rip a climax from me and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sacrifice it. I open my mouth slightly in expectation, so does Jerk-Off Man who mouths the words I love you as his hand pumps harder and faster.

  Instead of moaning, I scowl at our voyeur and his face crumbles as he shoots his wad. I make sure he sees me take Jared’s earlobe into my mouth to nibble on it and I think, Yeah, buddy you wish you could have some of this. Jared moans and licks at my throat in return.

  “Touch me,” he begs from against my neck and his strained voice startles me. I reach between his legs and encounter a sharp rise in his jeans. He moves back and I unzip his pants and fumble for the opening. Once inside, I give his swollen cock a squeeze and he sighs as if I’ve done him a great favor.

  “Oh, yes,” he whispers and rests his forehead against my temple.

  A slight tug gets his whole length out. His cock is getting thicker as blood rushes to swell it, making the skin tight. My God, it feels lovely, like a thick pipe wrapped in warm suede. Then, as to be expected, a scene change lights up the room, allowing me a better look.

  During my theater adventures, I have encountered a lot of men of different races and have concluded that there is no accurate way to guess a man’s penis size by looks alone. You have to experience him, literally, first hand.

  And my chest heaves at the thought of getting fucked senseless by his cock. It’s long and thick and the tip of its swollen head is moist. I lick my lips, wishing for a taste—but that goes against my rules.

  His thumb presses my clitoris once again and I have to bury my face in the curve of his neck to keep from crying out. I grab his wrist and start guiding him, pumping his hand, making him fist fuck me harder, faster, and when he touches my clit again, I come, for the first time in ages, all over his creative, talented fingers.

  The world falls out from under me and I’m on a roller coaster going down a bottomless pit. My orgasm goes on and on, overflowing and spilling onto the seat.

  “Ah, lovely,” he sighs. “That’s it, sugar. Oh, yes , darlin’. . . give it to me.”

  And I do. I want to. But I’m not going to be alone in this. I pump my fist tighter and faster along his cock until his essence drips onto my hand providing me with just enough to lubricate my strokes. Jared thrusts, ever so slightly and I apply more pressure to increase the friction.

  He turns my face to his and stabs his tongue far into my mouth, leaning into me, and I push back until I’m nearly climbing on top of him instead. He gives a moan of surprise against my mouth, driving his tongue deeper and I thrust my hips so his fingers can delve farther.

  This man, whom I’ve met just over an hour ago, has gotten me more aroused than I have been in my life. But I’m not the only one excited. The skin of his penis is tight. He’s going to explode.

  “Mmm, that’s right, baby.” I smile against his lips before they crush mine again, taking my tongue deep inside his mouth. Sparks of purple, yellow, and green flash behind my eyelids. Suddenly, he thrusts his hips and thick, warm jet streams of cream erupt against my skirt and seeps through to my thighs. He shudders against me and releases his pent-up breath in a low, guttural moan and relaxes. My loins weep against his hand for being left out, but—after all—we’ve just met.

  He collapses back into his seat, and holding his gaze, I remove his hand from my crotch. The wet, sucking sound lets us both know that he’s plowed me deep and it was well received. I wipe his hand on the exposed flesh of my cleavage and daintily kiss the tip of each of his fingers to say thank you, tasting my spice on them.

  “Good God,” he rasps out, his eyes wide with surprise as he playfully twists his pinkie inside my mouth before I let it slip from my lips.

  Grinning, I gently place his cock back inside his trousers. When I look up at the screen, the cartoon selection from Poland is ending. There’s only one more film clip remaining. My heart is racing. I cross my legs and sit back in my seat, trembling, still feeling the sensation of Jared’s fingers deep inside me along with the wake of my orgasm. That was not petting—that was sex. The best sex I’ve ever had. I look at him. He’s leaning back, his face toward the ceiling, looking like he’s either asleep or in desperate need of a cigarette.

  By the time the house lights come on ten minutes later, we are composed and with our clothes in order. I’ve tied my sweater around my waist to hide the wet stain on my skirt.

  Although the lights aren’t harsh, they’re strong enough to shatter the bubble we created around ourselves and I feel exposed. Keeping my eyes on the floor, I rush into the aisle. Jared doesn’t touch my back like before. I’m not sure if he’s even behind me.

  Entering the lobby, I walk on shaky legs out the front doors. Standing on the sidewalk, I see that rush hour has started and the road in front of the strip mall is thick with traffic.

  Leaving the dark, air-conditioned surroundings of The DeLuxe only to be slapped in the face by smog and dry heat is too much. My stomach churns and my head starts to throb. I start to walk away.

  “Hey! Hold up!”

  I turn and see Jared approaching with a smile on his lips. We can now finish our assessments of each other without the hindrance of shadow. I estimate him to stand about six-feet-four because I’m five-feet-ten. But in my three-inch heels, I’m almost eye level with him. His thick, dark, chestnut hair curls up as it touches his collar and stylishly frames his face. I can easily imagine how he’d look with his hair all wet after taking a shower or plastered with sweat after an afternoon of passionate sex.

  Ooh, how I wanted to be the one to work up that sweat! But I can’t. I’ve been naughty enough for one day. My fever has passed and now I must control myself until next week.

  But what I assumed earlier about his not being masculine is wrong. His skin is slightly
sun-tanned and, boyish face aside, Jared is all man. By the way he walks, with those long, smooth strides, he’s more than sure of himself.

  And those eyes.

  Perhaps those eyes are still adjusting to the sunlight because his pupils are big despite our being outside. Could he be on drugs? Maybe. He is an artist after all. But I dismiss the thought as quickly as it comes. He simply likes what he sees and I probably look like a prostitute from the 1950s with my tousled hair and smeared lipstick. All that’s missing is a Lucky Strike hanging from my mouth as I wait for him to press a $20 bill in my palm.

  “Care to join me for dinner?”

  My jaw drops open and, in a momentary lapse of cool, I must resemble a bug-eyed fish out of water. This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten an invitation like this. Darkness makes it easy. I can usually change their mind with a withering stare, but this time, I’m truly speechless.

  I go to the movies to abandon myself, content to leave my fantasies inside the building. The fantasy is not supposed to ask me to dinner. That’s against the rules. My rules.

  OK, so I’ve been selective with the rules today—but this isn’t supposed to happen! I have reduced my appreciation for men into faceless gadgets requiring batteries, or faceless men in a dark theater.

  Faceless. Why couldn’t he just remain faceless, sit next to me in the dark, and leave without introducing himself? I could’ve beaten a quick retreat without remorse. We both could have. But Jared is all flesh and waits for my answer. He also knows my name . . . and where I work.

  Shit.

  If ever I needed a reason to stop doing this, I have found it.

  I’m about to reply when Jerk-Off Man comes out of the theater. He sees me and walks in our direction. I frown but he keeps walking with a half smirk, half grimace on his face as he passes.