“Hey, guys! Today I’m gonna show you how to make a perfect cup of coffee.”
I’m not really going to explain how to get great tasting coffee, today. You can read about that here. That was actually – Layla the lead female of my work-in-progress, Off Base, pretending to make a YouTube video. I’m excited because I’ve just completed another chapter. Just a few more chapters and I’ll be done… with the first draft. I’m trying to have it finished super quickly because I may be having surgery on my wrist soon. I recently shared this update… Oh right, you probably want more of this scene first. It’s the first draft, so it’s unedited. That means A- it’s not perfect, and B- it may change.
Here you go:
“Hey, guys! Today I’m gonna show you how to make a perfect cup of coffee.” You can make it for yourself to enjoy by the fireplace. Or make it for your Boo to butter him up so he can do that thing you love for him to do. But before we get started, please like, subscribe and comment below.” In a fake southern accent, Layla addresses a pretend video audience. I crack up when she exaggerates a wink at me at the mention of buttering up one’s Boo. Even though she’s being goofy, her natural teaching skills are evident as she speaks with confidence and injects personality and humor. I wonder if she misses teaching at NAS Training, where she was an instructor when we first met. Of course, I didn’t know that when I fell in love with her. It was a difficult time for us, being forced to end our relationship because of military regulations, but we’re together now, and that’s what counts.
“So in order to get great-tasting coffee, you need to start with a clean coffee machine. She holds up a bottle of vinegar in front of a make-believe camera. “Use a mix of vinegar and water to remove the gunk that’s been festering inside. Deep inside. Deep, deep inside. Mmm.” She closes her eyes and flashes a sensuous smile, followed by winks, nods and smoochy lip puckers as if she’s on one of our sexy video chats.
I burst into laughter. “That ought to get you a million followers.”
She laughs with me, then lowers one shoulder of the oversized tee-shirt she swiped from my drawer.
“Whoa, you just got another million followers.”
She lifts the tee-shirt to reveal brightly multicolored lace panties and gyrates her hips seductively.
“I don’t believe it. Did you tie-dye your panties?”
She laughs again. “Why, yes. Yes, I did.”
“Oh my God. You just broke the internet.”
I could watch Layla all day and never grow tired of her silly antics or her seductive moves. I know every inch of her body and she knows mine. I know what makes her laugh, what makes her afraid and I definitely know what makes her angry. She’s getting better at communicating with me and sharing her feelings. We’ve had some conversations during which she’s really opened up and shared her feelings, but the one topic she doesn’t like discussing is her past. Well, any past. She enjoys hearing stories of my childhood, my teen years and the like. But when I bring up any of our past relationships, it’s Can we just focus on us and worry about all that past later?
And of course, I give her what she wants. After all, she gives me what I want. Herself. Here, with me. She’s all I want. All I need. All I crave.
“Do you want some, Lieutenant?” Her sweet voice brings me to the here and now.
“Yes. I definitely want some.” I move close, stand directly behind her. With my hands on the countertop on either side of her, pinning her in place, I kiss the back of her neck. “But I’m not referring to coffee.” She tilts her head forward and then to the side, granting me access to explore as I please.
“So what exactly do you want?”
“You.”
“Could you be a little more specific?”
“I want to touch you.” I continue the kisses along her neck, lifting her hair up and to one side.
“Well, I’m in charge today. We play by my rules.”
“Oh Really? And what does that mean? Do I have to ask permission?”
“Ya damn skippy.”
I laugh. “But I outrank you.”
“We’re off base, Lieutenant. The rules are different here.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep.”
“Whatever you say, Ensign.” I place one hand gently on her waist while my other teases the hem of her tee-shirt, without making contact with her skin. My body is aching for her, and when she pushes her ass against the erection she knows is craving her attention, she confirms her longing for my touch as well.
“Can I touch you?”
“Where’s your military courtesy?”
“Forgive me. Respectfully request permission to touch you, Ensign Matthews.”
“Permission granted.”
I grab her waist with both hands and guide her to the kitchen table, pushing gently on her back, so she’s leaning forward and supporting her weight with her hands. Reaching under her tee-shirt, I slowly pull her panties down, letting them fall to her ankles before lowering the front of my sweats enough to release my cock. Positioning myself near her entrance, I rub against her, back and forth. Teasing.
She turns her head slightly, revealing one side of a sly grin. “I only gave you permission to touch me, Lieutenant. Nothing else.”
“You’re right. I should stop.”
“Don’t you dare.” By now she’s moaning softly and pushing her ass against me, begging me with her body.
I laugh and kiss the small of her back, caress her cheeks and give each one a squeeze before reaching up to grab a fistful of her hair. “Request permission to fuck you, Ma’am.”
She answers immediately. Breathless. “Permission granted.”
“Hold on tight.”
I try to ignore the sound of the doorbell fighting for my attention, but it rings again. And again. And again. Shit. I pull my pants up and go to the front door ready to blast whoever it is who’s ruined what promised to be an amazing fuck on the kitchen table. Layla follows, adjusting her clothes behind me as I open the door.
Dread, anger and resentment immediately cause bile to rise from my gut and form a lump in my throat. The blood in my veins runs hot and my chest heaves with each breath of fury. My suspicions swell as I stare in disbelief at the woman in my doorway – the star of my personal nightmare.
Now back to me… So I had my MRI today – for my wrist, but my whole body was in the thing…at least I think so… my eyes were closed the entire time. The technician said not to move at all, so I figured blinking would be moving. It was not fun. I was in the machine for about half an hour, and even though I had earplugs in and headphones on playing Sirrius satellite radio (provided by the technician), it still sounded like someone dropped me in the middle of a construction site. I meet with the hand specialist again on Wednesday, so I guess that’s when I’ll find out if and when my hand will be immobilized. Bring on the royal bathers! (can you guess the movie?)
Can I finish my book by then? I’ve got 5 or 6 more chapters to complete my first draft. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Wish me luck.
sharenee.com 