My “Meet Barton Wallace” night is a bust. Picking up stray cocktail napkins and plastic cups, I reflect on the evening. The folks in this little town are amazing. Regardless that they didn’t get to hear a reading, they still bought their books and waved off that there were no Barton Wallace autographs. And everyone patted me on the back for my bravery. I’m humbled. Scooter retrieved the cheese tray and they all hung out until the last toast point was gone. Now, with the lights dimmed and the books neatly stacked and back on the shelf, Scooter and I clean up. He’s even staying late to help by stacking up the chairs and making sure everything is back to normal.

“There ya go boss lady. All that’s left is the banquet table.”

“Scooter, you’re the best. Leave the table, I’ll put it away. Now, go home and write that helium story. It sounds like a winner!” I give him a soft punch on his arm. He takes off.

Here I am. Alone in my shop and alone in my romantic fantasy world. When I think of the countless hours I spent day-dreaming over that insensitive schmuck I want to hurl. How can such a beast of a guy write such beautiful words? I can’t understand it. I start to pull off the lace table cloth when I hear, Tinkle-linkle-linkle. The little bell on the front door sounds. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed for the day.” I say as I head over to the vestibule but I’m stopped in my tracks when I see him. It’s Jarrod.

“Hey.” He says rather timidly.

“Hey.” I’m just as timid. We stand before one another motionless. I break the silence. “Are you ok?”

Jarrod looks like a lost puppy. “I…uh…I…didn’t get on the plane to go home. Something snapped inside of me and I did something that I never do.” He takes a deep inhale. “I said, ‘no.’” He looks at me, stunned by the simplicity of his action.

My heart is beating deep. “Sometimes ‘no’ can be a turning point in a person’s life.”

A fluid, easy smile spreads across his face and he shakes his head. “I said, ‘no.’”

This makes me smile too.

“And now,” he takes a beat and stops shaking his head, “I’m saying, ‘yes.’” His eyes catch mine while he reaches out and takes hold of my hand. He’s stoic. “I want you to know that from our first phone call, I felt like I knew you. Your voice, the way you say my name in repetition ‘Jarrod, Jarrod, Jarrod.’ I had to meet you. I’m no Barton Wallace, I mean, everyone wants to meet him, but I thought that if I could get him here then I could hide behind him for the chance to meet you.”

Jarrod’s sincerity is off the charts. His face is soft and there’s a deep earnestness that is exuding from his aura. Every feeling that I’ve ever had while reading a Barton Wallace book is washing over me at this very instant; surrender, rapture, and a natural high that one can only experience when you realize that you are truly, deeply in love. I can’t help myself. I take a step forward, put my lips on his, and melt. We let the sensual, delicate touch of our lips hover, without movement, allowing the heat from our bodies to be exchanged. Like the gentleness of a baby lamb, Jarrod puts his hand behind the nape of my neck and draws me closer and then lets his mouth widen as he takes me in. I place my hand upon his chest and feel his heart beating in the exact same rhythm as mine, quickly, but deeply, intensifying as our kiss becomes more and more sensual. Our eye glasses clink against one another. Jarrod rips his off and I do the same. The removal of our nerd glasses is as if we found the key to our inner lion’s cage and we both let our animals run free.

Jarrod slides his hand down my dress and up, under my butt lifting me to straddle him while he stays standing. We circle around like a tornado knocking over a book display that is in our path. He kisses me all over my face, my neck, my ears, he’s absorbing me with gusto and I am rapt. We knock into the banquet table. Jarrod lays me down and climbs on top loosening his neck tie until he frees himself from the noose. I unbutton his shirt and he’s quick to slip it off his shoulders letting it land on the floor. He undoes the buttons on my shirt kissing me along my breast bone with each unfastened button. I slip myself out of my shirt and Jarrod nuzzles my tiny breasts as if I actually had something there. He makes me feel sexy. I grab at his belt unhooking the buckle. He toes off his shoes and his pants slide off by themselves. Yes, he’s that skinny, but ya know what? So am I.

With his pants in a heap on the floor, he’s clad only in plaid boxer shorts, his erection creating a tent. Sliding his hands down my body, he flings my skirt up and stares at my white, cotton panties. “This is exactly what I imagined you would wear.” Using the palm of his hand, he places it along the front of my panties feeling the heat of my sex blasting through the fabric. “Emma, you are more beautiful than the mind can conceive.”

Jarrod is like a different person, far from the klutz that tumbled out of the limo. He’s a true romantic, knowing exactly what to say, when to say it, and how to act upon his words. In a flash, my panties are off, my most intimate self, revealed, and my desire to make love intensified. His hands roam over my thighs forcing me to spread my legs yearning for him to touch me. And he does. Slipping his fingers inside of me, my head flops backward, my eyes close while my back does a natural arch allowing Jarrod to penetrate deeper and stronger. My lips quake, my body glistens with sweat as I build and build toward a climactic ending. But then he stops, jumps off the table and rummages through his pants pockets. I open my eyes as Jarrod reveals a condom.

“This was part of my job, always have condoms ready for Barton. But now it’s my turn.”           He rips open the little foil packet, slides off his boxers and rolls on the condom. Climbing on top, he kisses my mouth so sensually I drool. He stops himself from going any further and says, “Emma, I am not about to do anything that you don’t want to do. It’s ok if you just say, ‘no.’”

His face is so trustworthy and serene, like a little boy taking the cub scout oath promising to be faithful and true. Looking directly into his eyes, I answer him. “Sometimes, ‘yes’ can be a turning point in someone’s life.”

Join thousands of global art lovers who love TribeLA Magazine 2.0! Enter your email address, and we'll send you our current issues, L.A. art news updates, and new product notifications.

You have Successfully Subscribed. We will not spam you or share your information and you can unsubscribe anytime.