Page 16 of Body Checking
HOURS have passed since Maren sent me a picture of her smiling face as she drank her morning coffee, and it’s been two since I sent her a picture back with no response.
I’m a fairly confident man and while I know I’m not some young twenty-something dude, I feel good about how I look. I can see it in the faces of women that look at me when I pass by. And I’ve never had any complaints from the women I’ve been with. But the fact that I sent Maren a photo hours ago and she has yet to respond has me feeling a little vulnerable.
I pull out the room service menu from where it sits on the small desk in my hotel room, and decide to comfort myself with a big cheeseburger and fries. I’m just about to call down to place my order when my cell phone pings. I fly across the room like a fifteen year old girl waiting for the boy she’s crushing on to call her, and I’m not even sorry about it.
I open the phone and there sits a response from my dream girl. Just below the shirtless selfie I sent of myself when I was lying in bed earlier.
Maren:That’s some pretty good body checking, Coach.
My heart does that little skip a beat thing I’ve heard about but never experienced for myself. My thumbs suddenly feel too big and fat as I try to text back, so I stop for a moment and calm my inner little girl down.
Me:Good enough to let me slam you against the boards?
I hit send then immediately wish I could erase that lame ass comment. What is wrong with me? I can’t think straight or sensibly when it comes to her. And it’s clear that I have now thoroughly driven her away as the little dots appear and quickly disappear with no response.
“What the fuck is wong with you, Hamlin?” I growl at myself.
Now I’m going to need a large shake to go along with that cheeseburger and fries to soothe my sad little heart.
Ping. The sound chimes from my phone and it has me smiling all over again.
Maren:I’d be happy to take a hard hit from the infamous Hammer. >
“Thank you Lord Jesus,” I praise when I see the picture attached.
It’s of a fresh faced Maren, her cheeks slightly pink, and her hair down in wet waves. She’s wearing a robe or nightgown or something to that effect, and it hangs low, giving me the perfect view of the best set of tits I’ve ever seen.
Me:Sweetheart, I’d give you anything you want. All you have to do is ask.
Maren:Well since you’re offering…Why do they call you Hammer?
Oh shit. My little Swiss Miss wants to dive right in. I hope she’s ready.
Me:Some say it’s because I used to hammer guys against the glass and leave them damaged. But others say it’s because of this.
I gulp then drop my sweats, grip the base of my cock and tug just enough to wake it up. When he’s standing nice and tall and proud, I snap a quick picture and send it to her.
And then there they are. The dots bounce. Then disappear. Then reappear, then go away.
Maren:I’d say that everyone could say it’s because you leave them damaged. I don’t think anyone is coming back after a hit from you.
Before I can respond, another text pops up.
Maren:Are you PIERCED?
Me:Are you?
Maren:God no. I’m too chicken shit to pierce anything that….sensitive.
Me:You’d be surprised at what you think you can’t handle and what you actually can. Sometimes a little pain is worth it.
Maren:So.
Maren:Is this a tit for tat kind of thing?
Maren:Or rather, tit for dick.
I chuckle at her quick wit.
