Page 92 of CowSex
IFEEL ASHAMED OF MYSELF.What a seriously dick move I just pulled, trying to convince Gracie to have unprotected sex with me. What the fuck was I thinking? And then to suggest that we just go for it and get her fixed up with the morning after pill tomorrow? Fuck. Me!
I actually groan as I tear along the dark empty roads at a speed barely safe enough not to spin out at any of the bends.
Gracie’s comment about ‘literally dying for a shag’ wasn’t exactly appreciated when I locked myself out in the snow the other night. I’d lost all trace of my sense of humour when I thought my dick and balls were gonna freeze off, especially when she started making her wisecracks and then telling me that she took a shower while I was facing a sub-zero, untimely, very naked and icy, death. Tonight, though, with thoughts of her lying naked in my cabin, waiting on my return, I allow myself to chuckle at her funny, if slightly warped and wicked, sense of humour.
I park outside the gas station and run inside, leaving the engine of my truck running. I empty the shelves of every pack of Trojan Bare Skins in XL that they have, and that’s when I spot the flowers. The choice is limited. I’m at a gas station in the middle of winter. It's a Wednesday night, just a few days out from a three-day snowstorm, but I take everything they have. I then hunt down the biggest box of chocolates I can find, ignoring the fact that they’re in a heart-shaped box and what Gracie might think about that. I take everything to the register.
The woman behind the desk looks down at my purchases and then up at me before smiling. I know her face from growing up here, but not well enough to put a name to it.
“If you’re hoping to get lucky, put the box of Whitman’s back. They’re two days from being outta date and taste like shit. On that end cap over there are smaller boxes we got in especially from Belgium for the holidays. Smaller box gonna cost you twice as much. Size ain’t always everything, though.” She holds up one of the boxes of condoms as if to make her point.
“A lady’ll prefer quality over quantity in most things in this life, whether it be chocolates or dick. Besides, I know who you are, and know damn well you can stretch to something better than a near date expired, heart-shaped box of Whitman’s. Now put them back and pick up the Belgian before you have your daddy spinning in his grave and I have to make a call to your momma so as she can give you a talking to.”
I leave the gas station feeling even more ashamed than when I walked in. Gracie’s not Lucy. She doesn’t need to be showered in the biggest and best of everything. Don’t ask me how I know this; I just feel it in my gut.
Then again, I’ve been completely wrong about the women in my life before, so who the fuck knows.
My bourbon and sex adrenaline buzz from earlier has worn off, and I drive home to Gracie a lot slower.
When I come through the front door, I can hear music playing upstairs. I go into the kitchen, unwrap the flowers from their plastic, and make one big bunch out of them. I pull a pair of scissors from the drawer and snip the ends off and remove the lower leaves like I’ve seen my mom do. Then I hunt for a vase, but end up settling for a pitcher that I find in the cabinet instead. I half fill it with water and arrange them as best I can, hoping Gracie appreciates my efforts. I’ve never in my life arranged flowers before and never plan to admit to anyone that I did it tonight.
I put the pitcher full of flowers on a tray with the chocolates and condoms, take off all of my clothes, and with a single flower between my teeth, head back up the stairs.
When I get to Gracie’s bedroom door, she’s sitting with her back against the headboard, sheets tucked under her arms, barely covering her perfect tits. My dick comes to life the instant we both catch sight of her. She’s so fucking gorgeous.
There’s a woman’s voice singing softly from her speaker. I’ve no clue who it is and have never heard the song before, but I like it.
Gracie’s looking down at her phone, smiling at something, and doesn’t notice me for a minute. Then she does.
And I’m fucked. I can deny it all I want, but after just seven days of trying to fight it, I’m ready to wave the white flag—from my dick if that is what it takes—and admit defeat. There’s something happening here, between the two of us that I have no control over.
When she looks up and gives me that smile, I know it.
When her eyes widen, and her hand comes up to cover her mouth, and the sheet on one side drops to her waist, exposing her beautifully inked skin, I sure as shit know it.
When she laughs and then, bursts into tears, and my own lips tremble at seeing her cry, I’m absolutely, one hundred and ten percent positive.
“What did you do?” she asks through a sob. I’m not sure if she’s laughing or crying. A bit of both, I think.
I move towards her and put the tray down on the nightstand before handing her the flower from between my teeth.
I climb onto the bed and pull her into my lap.
“What’s with the tears? Did you miss me that much? Or are you just fretting that I brought you flowers and forgot the condoms again?”
She laughs through her tears and, then stops, blinking rapidly while looking at me.
“Wait. What? Please tell me you got the condoms?”
“Of course, I got the condoms, but I also got you the flowers and some chocolates by way of an apology for the things I said earlier.”
“Which ones?” She smiles as she asks and her tears shine in her eyes.
“Chocolates?”
“Which words are you apologising for?”
“Well, everything that I’ve ever said that might’ve caused offence. I guess it can’t be too many, we only met a week ago, but especially for what I said before I left.”
