Dear Diary,

The Rolling Stones had it right: I can’t always get what I want. And  even if I try, sometimes I just don’t get what I need, either. 

But I keep trying…

**This post contains adult content.**


“Hello?” she answered.

“Hey! How are you?” he asked.

“I feel out of sorts, like Monday has been a Groundhog’s Day sort of holiday. You?”

“I’m wondering exactly where the day went. I know I’ve been working on stuff, but now that I look outside and see that it’s dark, I don’t know what it is I actually accomplished. If anything.”

“Does this mean you want to take me out for coffee? Or is this the precursor conversation to, Sorry, I’m no fun at all.

“Ha. Ha. You can’t see me; while we’ve been talking, I’ve been getting dressed, collecting my keys, and all that.”



“You could have given me a heads up; I’m not wearing pants. Or a shirt. But I am wearing underwear, and that’s a start.”

“It’s forty degrees out; you’re going to to want pants and a shirt. Besides, the coffee shops generally appreciate it when people have clothes on.”

“How boring. OK. Are you coming over soon, then?”

“Already on my way.”

It wasn’t until he raised his hand to knock on her door that he suddenly felt some misgivings. She had greeted him before wearing only a tee shirt with nothing underneath, and once even just a silk robe left open and unbelted, presumably because she couldn’t decide what to wear.

He had a deadline to meet tonight, but he wasn’t sure his willpower was up to resisting her invitation for something more than coffee if she was already naked.

Miraculously, she appeared fully dressed. He felt both relieved and disappointed.  

“Brr, it is cold out here,” she agreed, locking the door and pocketing her keys.

“Did you want to go to Old Soul? If so, which one?”

“Yes, let’s go; you choose. I just want something hot inside me,” she insinuated, looking up at him with a wicked grin.

“Uh-huh. Coffee, then,” he replied, holding open the car door for her.

He drove to Old Soul at 40 Acres off Broadway, surmising that it might be less crowded than Weatherstone and the Alley, and it was, just two other people in the entire shop.

“What would you like?” the barista asked automatically.

“I’d like a mocha, and you?”  he replied, turning to her.

“I think I’ll try the Old Stump coffee stout,” she said. To the barista, she explained, “He needs the caffeine to keep up, and I need a beer to slow down. Otherwise he doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Oh, is that how it is?” he laughed while she just smiled, her eyes sparkling.

“You two are really cute,” the barista told them both, tallying up the cost.

“I’d better pay for these,” she said, pulling her wallet from her jacket pocket. “It will help even the score, for later.”

As they nestled on the black leather couch, he asked, “So we’re keeping score now?”

“I know you are. I can’t ever remember but you always seem to know what the balance is.” She put her hand on his knee and slowly dragged it up, up, up. “Just coffee?”

He caught her hand, interlaced her fingers with his. “I have a lot to get done before my meeting tomorrow morning.”

She made a face. “Isn’t it nice to know that at any given moment you can say to yourself, Right now she’s waiting for me?”

“That’s quite a compliment,” he breathed. “Not really helpful for focusing on work, but very nice.”

Her dark eyes were dangerously bright as she leaned closer and whispered into his ear, “I wish we were at my place, so I could feel your hands under my shirt, your thumbs circling my nipples until they peak, and then you pinch them, softly at first and then harder, squeezing my breasts in your palms until they ache.”

Pulling away, she sat up and reached for her beer. “I think this is probably the second-best coffee stout, ever. No bitter aftertaste, and thank god it doesn’t taste like someone dumped some coffee grounds into a dark beer and mixed it up in the back room.”

“The first one being…?” he managed, his mind still thinking of her breasts, the way she opened her mouth and panted while he teased her, the suggestions he would make when she couldn’t even speak.

“The one we had at Pangaea; I think it was Modern Times? The texture was silkier, but this is still very good,” she elaborated, emptying the glass in one smooth swallow. “Time to switch to coffee.”

He watched her walk to the register, heard her easy laugh as she bantered with the barista, watched her long legs shifting from side to side as she waited. In his head he heard her say it again: At any given moment you can say to yourself, right now she’s waiting for me.

She came back with a white ceramic cup in her hands and licking foam off her upper lip.

“I couldn’t wait,” she lamented, wiping her sticky fingers on a napkin.

“Clearly,” he said, and she looked sharply at him, that devilish grin resurfacing.

“Where were we?” she asked quietly, snuggling under his arm. “Did I get to the part where I’m kneeling over the bed, where you spank me until I’m so wet your cock slides all the way inside, so deep that I scream and beg you to do it again?”

He closed his eyes, remembering the times that he had done exactly that, and sipped his coffee while she continued in detail, murmuring in his ear all of their favorite moments…

Here’s to hoping you get what you need in the New Year to come!




**Photo Credit**

Yes, those are my elbows. And his, via the magic of a self timer.