Page 6 of Stalking My Stalker

And he does.

But he also turns me on in a way I can barely understand.

It’s nearly one a.m. I’ve been lying in bed for an hour now, naked as a jaybird, and I’m all alone. He should be here by now. Maybe he somehow missed the fairly obvious hint I gave him back in the alley when I said I was turning in early. Like, duh, dude! What did you think I was saying?

Maybe I was being too subtle for him. It sure didn’t feel that way to me. But then again, he barely even spoke, and his face was impossible to read. He stood there like a stoic warrior, unshakeable. A statue of grandiose masculinity. I couldn’t tell if he was pissed off or intrigued. It did feel like he was being playful at times, but the sharp lines of his face betrayed nothing.

I’ve learned nothing from stalking him these last six days–nothing intriguing, that is. Parker is like a robot. He runs through the routine every day: wakes up at 7a.m., does a hundred shirtless pushups in his living room (which always makes my jaw drop), then makes himself an omelet and goes to work at his security job. I can’t follow him all day, of course. I have class. So we’re apart for most of the day, and if I’m being honest, that’s getting harder and harder for me.

There is this one woman at his work who, I have to confess, has brought the jealousy out in me. She’s blond, probably somewhere in her early thirties, and it’s blatantly obvious that she has a thing for Parker. She smiles at him, bends over to show off her cleavage, and wears skin-tight dresses and heels like she’s playing the naughty secretary in a porn movie. I honestly can’t believe the boys upstairs let her dress like that at such a highly respected firm.

But as far as I can tell, Parker doesn’t respond to her advances. In fact, on several occasions, I’ve seen him turn away from her in a way that most women would consider rude. But she must really like him because she keeps it up. It’s not likeI blame her. Parker is astoundingly gorgeous. If I was her, I’d probably be doing the same thing.

Ever since I’ve begun reverse-stalking him, it’s becoming harder and harder to be away from him. I used to just anticipate seeing him at night, but now I’m wanting him more and more. It’s kind of like going a whole day without eating Doritos, but then you have one and you end up wanting to eat the whole bag.

My appetite has been whetted, and my need for him is increasing every day.

He is incredibly skilled at stalking, but now that I know he’s following me, I’ve managed to spot him a few times while leaving school or driving back to my apartment. I even setup a Wi-Fi motion sensor in the vacant house across the street that alerts me whenever he goes inside.

I’ve never been more thrilled in my life.

What a sick and twisted game we’re both playing.

I try to stay awake as long as I can, but by two a.m., I’m falling asleep. Guess he isn’t coming. Deflated, I slip my shorts on and twist onto my stomach, letting out a disappointed sigh. And that’s when I hear it. The almost-silent sound of my window opening, then the shifting of my floorboards as he creeps inside.

He’s here.

Can he read my mind? Was he waiting until I gave up on him tonight?

A hot heat of excitement swells between my legs. It spreads, radiating through my body as my heart begins to race. I’m hit with a scintillating rush of lust. Why does this turn me on so much? Am I crazy?

I remain perfectly still, pretending to be asleep as Parker creeps quietly across the room until he’s standing by my bed. His musk fills my nostrils, awakening pillars of primal passion within me. His heat warms me, amplifying my longing, as I listen to the hypnotic sounds of his strong, controlled breaths.

My body is crying out with anticipation, thirsting for his touch. It’s usually now that he pulls back my sheets to look at my body, and I curse myself for putting my shorts back on. What an idiot I am. But this time, instead of getting right to it, he stands there for a long time, as though he’s weighing something over in his mind. He’s not going to change his mind now…is he?

He climbed the wall of my building.

He broke into my bedroom. Why would he do that if not to go all the way?

God, if only I could scream at him to touch me.

When he finally leans down and pulls back the covers, I have to struggle to stay still. I can feel his eyes scouring my mostly-naked body. If only I had left my shorts off. Then this would have been perfect. But then again, are first times ever perfect? From everything I’ve heard from other girls, they’re mostly awkward and sometimes boring. Well, even if this doesn’t go a hundred percent according to plan, it certainly won’t be boring.

I nearly jump when he touches my back just below my neck, right between my shoulder blades. It feels like the knuckle of his middle finger. He traces slowly down, setting my body ablaze with salacious cravings.

Don’t move.

You’re sleeping, Ali. You’re sleeping.

My breath catches in my throat as his fingers reach the waistband of my shorts. I hear his breathing and match its rhythm with mine, desperately fighting to keep up the illusion of unconsciousness. My heart is pounding so hard against the mattress there’s just no way he doesn’t hear it.

His touch on my lower back is so gentle and restrained, which only serves to heighten the tension in the room. Thinking about it, this could be a scene out of a horror film. The masked killer standing over the half-naked girl just before he plunges his knife into her back.

Picturing that should turn me off. And yet…

Take off my shorts, Parker. Strip me naked and make me yours. Please, don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now, big fella. I want it. You know I do. I want you to take my V-card. Don’t question yourself now.

Finally, I feel his thumbs hook into my waistband. He pulls tenderly, but my shorts are pinned beneath me and I can’t move, or I’ll break the illusion that I’m sleeping. So with every ounce of control in my body, I subtly shift the angle of my hips, allowing him to pull them down. All the way to my ankles.

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