Page 8 of Indiana Idealist
Desperate to feel him inside me, I reach down to unfasten his jeans.
His fingers come around to circle my wrist and stop my progress. I pull back and glare down at him. I’m slick with need when he stuns me by picking me up and plopping me down beside him on the floor.
Even though he’s panting with desire, he says in a firm tone, “I can’t do this with you.”
With that, he gets up and stalks into another room, which I assume is his bedroom.
The sound of his door slamming echoes throughout the cabin as I sit there staring at the floor for a long moment. My cheeks heat with hurt and embarrassment. When my shame turns to anger, I shout, “Fine!” toward the closed door where he made his dramatic exit.
After standing and straightening my robe, I stomp towards the front door with as much dignity as I can muster. I call out over my shoulder, “Come on, Charlotte!” and am relieved when I hear the pig trotting after me.
I leave his front door standing wide open and march along the path to my home. I mutter to myself as I walk. “He can’t do this withme––as if I am somehow unworthy of him. Who does he think he is? He’d be lucky to be with me!”
As much as I want to believe my angry ranting, there is no denying the niggling, doubtful, and fearful voice that always invades my brain at moments like this…You’re not good enough.
Once Charlotte and I are safely inside my home, I slam my front door, flop face-down on the sofa, and burst into tears.
10
LEO
Ihate it that I hurt Camille’s feelings. That is the last thing I wanted to do. She’s a lovely human being––for the most part. I’ve grown to care a great deal about her, despite my best efforts to the contrary. In fact, I have more warm feelings for her than I’m willing to admit, even to myself.
But she is a selfish and careless polluter. What kind of tree-hugging environmentalist would I be, if I hooked up with someone who obviously doesn’t have a social conscience?
I can’t give in to my desire for her, no matter how tempting she makes it. I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the mirror every morning if I was with someone that irresponsible. It would go against everything I believe in.
The day seems interminably long as I try my best not to think about how hot Camille looked in that sexy little robe, but fail miserably with that mission. I can’t keep the delectable memory of her rubbing herself along my cock from popping into my head, and every time it does, my entire lower half aches with the need to drive into her and make her mine.
Even though it was a stupid move on her part, it’s completely endearing that she cared enough about Charlotte’s safety to put herself at risk. But the fact that she obviously loves my pig doesn’t negate the long-term effects of the harmful chemicals that she puts into our water supply. I simply can’t ignore that, and I would grow to hate myself, if I did.
Darkness finally begins to fall, so I sit outside on the front porch and wait for Charlotte’s return. When the pig doesn’t come home at the normal time, frustration heats my core as I stand and stalk towards Camille’s house.
Is this the annoying woman’s way of punishing me? Is she trying to get back at me for what happened this morning by actually pignapping Charlotte?
It’s much easier to assume that Camille is at fault for Charlotte not returning home on time than to wonder if something might be wrong. The mere idea that either of them could be harmed or in any kind of danger has my heart racing in my chest.
Now that the intrusive thought has entered my mind, I can’t get rid of it. Worried for their safety, I pick up the pace of my trek through the woods. The further I go, the more dread settles in my gut. Soon, I go from jogging to an all-out sprint.
By the time I reach Camille’s front porch, I am completely winded. I pound on the thick wood of her front door, then tip down to brace my hands on my knees. Apparently, I’m not in nearly as good of shape as I thought.
It takes Camille too long to answer, so I stand back up to my full height and begin frantically beating on the door. The certainty that something is wrong is almost overwhelming.
When Camille finally flings the door open and glares up at me, sweet relief surges through my system.
“What the heck is so damn important that you can’t wait for five seconds?” the beautiful woman grouches.
Rather than answering, I ask in a breathless voice, “Is everything okay? Are you and Charlotte both all right?”
She must hear the true panic in my tone because she immediately soothes me, “Yes, we’re both fine.”
After opening the door wider, she points to the snoozing pig and says, “She’s taking a nap on her bed.”
Any other time, it would amuse me that Camille purchased a plush dog bed and several chew toys for Charlotte, but in this moment, my adrenaline is pumping too hard to pause and fully appreciate it.
I walk inside and stare at the snoozing animal as I say, “When she didn’t come home on time, I had this awful feeling that something was wrong.”
“Yeah, I know that feeling well after this morning’s scare,” Camille says. Guilt tinges her tone when she adds, “I know I’m late sending her home, but she looked so peaceful sleeping. I would have sent her as soon as she woke up.”
