Lucy's Story

Lucy's Story

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Tags

Summary

This is a story that I've had in my head for a while now. ADULT MATERIAL.

Tags

Summary

This is a story that I've had in my head for a while now. ADULT MATERIAL.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Lucy's Story

Author Chapter Note

This is a story that I've had in my head for a while now. ADULT MATERIAL.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 12, 2012

Reads: 1203

Comments: 7

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 12, 2012

A A A

A A A

Lucy’s Story

Chapter One:

Meet Lucy's Guys

Meet Trent.

He’s good looking, intelligent, very charismatic, and has a bit of a Napoleon complex. Sure, he’s only 5’5”, but he’s certainly decent enough in bed. He can be quite the chatterbox, which is fine as he’s a fun conversationalist. Dateable? No. Trent gets around. I know I’m not the only gal he calls up when he needs to unwind after a long day at work. Screwable? Of course. That’s the basis of our relationship.

Then there’s Phil.

Phil’s wife died five years ago very suddenly in a horrible accident. He’s balding, in his forties, and very emotional. I like Phil. Everything has depth with him. He can quote poetry, can tune a guitar, and can fix your car and still have time to fix dinner. Dateable? Uh, no. He’s an emotional mess. I can’t blame him, though. Screwable? Well, of course. Sex with him is quite the roller coaster ride.

Oh, and next there’s Hunter. He’s just turned 21, so his maturity level hasn’t maxed out. Hunter has those star quality looks about him. Tousled dark locks and piercing green eyes and an incredible body, he puts Taylor Launter to shame. Dateable? Nope. He has the I.Q. of a doorknob. Screwable? Most of the time; that is if I can get him after he’s taken his ADHD medication. Once he’s taken that, he can take on the world.

Lastly, there’s Zack. He looks like your average guy. Brown hair kept short, friendly light brown eyes and a medium build, Zack even acts like your average guy. Beer drinking, football watching, scratching your balls on the couch kind of guy. He’s a terrible cook, intelligent enough to hold conversation that lasts longer than five minutes, and he definitely can fix my plumbing any day of the week. No, literally. That’s what he does. Luckily, he doesn’t look like the fat crack-a-looking plumbers you see on TV for jokes. Dateable? No. I can’t take him anywhere, as he wears the same flannel looking shirts everywhere he goes. I’ve never seen him own any other pants than jeans. Screwable? Definitely. He’s always keeping me on my toes, finding new positions for us to try out.

~*~

“Ahh, to the left. Mmm, your other left. Yep. Right there. No. Dammit, you moved. To the right. Just a bit. Ohhh!!! There!! There!!”

Phil giggled as he scratched just below my shoulder blade, that hard to reach spot. After a moment, he had a gleaming look in his eyes. I smiled, because I knew just what he was thinking.

“The night has a thousand eyes,” he began, “The day but one; yet the light of the bright world dies with the dying sun…” He stopped and sighed. “The mind has a thousand eyes, and the heart but one; yet the light of a whole life dies when its love is done.”

This is my favorite thing about Phil. He’s such a bleeding heart, a hopeless romantic. He feels emotions so strongly and is secure with himself to express them.

“Francis W. Bourdillon”

“Who?”

“The poem. Bourdillon. He was a late Victorian English poet from Buddington, Sussex. England, that is. He was a tutor to the Prince and the Princess Christian at Cumberland Lodge.”

I looked up at Phil. “Were you thinking of your wife?”

He smiled sadly at me. “Yeah. I miss her.”

“If I massage your back, will you tell me about her?”

“Oh, Lucy. You’re so lovely. You know you don’t even have to ask.”

I sat up in bed as he lay on his stomach. Sitting on his butt, I started digging my palms into the small of his back.

“I remember it was August. It was still so hot. The school year hadn’t started yet. It was my second year of teaching, but my first year at sixth graders. Junior High kids are way different from the college kids from the year before. I was in my classroom, organizing and going through my weekly plans and goals. In the midst of this chaotic room, I hear a knock on my door. When it opened, I lost my breath for a moment. The face of an angel peeked in and smiled at me. I don’t remember how long I just sat there; I must have looked foolish to her. But I didn’t care. She finally introduced herself as Consuela Flores, the new principal of the school. Love at first sight; I never believed in it. Not until Connie came into my life. She was the evening star at the end of my day, the road to home.”

I was on the middle of his back, kneading my knuckles in the center and sides. The word home resonated in my ears. It felt good to hear that word. I leaned forward, hugging Phil from behind. He turned his head awkwardly to look at me, kissed me on the cheek. “You know I love you,” he said. “But it’s not the same.”

 

~*~

The smell of dogs, the sound of their playing, the clicking of their paws on a floor; those senses bring me so much joy. I walked into the Hug a Dog Animal Shelter and was greeted by Orson, a beautiful Cocker Spaniel mix. He sniffed at my feet and huffed. “Hey buddy, did ya miss me?” I dug into my pocket for a treat. “Who’s a good boy? Huh? Who’s a good boy? Yes, my sweet Orson is a good boy.” Orson sat on his back legs and patiently waited for his treat.

“Lucy! You’re late!” Mrs. Jacobs insists I call her by her first name, but I still, after all these years, cannot. She commands a room when she walks into it and just calling her Marie doesn’t seem to do her justice.

“I know, I’m so sorry. Want me to grab Zeke and take him for his walk?”

“Yes, please do.” I went to the back, bending and petting Orson as I left him. I could hear all the yaps and barks from all twelve of our dogs. Heading down the aisle, I called out, “Zeke! Buddy, get ready.” I grabbed a leash off the wall and went to his cage. Zeke was certainly ready. He was in a sitting position and calm, tongue wagging out as he huffed and smiled at me. I opened his cage and very carefully put the leash around his neck. Tugging, he followed me and together we went for our walk.

I work here at the Hug a Dog Animal Shelter. We rescue dogs and help find them homes. Some homes are willing to foster dogs until we can find a permanent and loving home for them. Zeke and I took our usual path. We went around the small pond, past the abandoned cabin, and into a path in the woods. My apartment complex doesn’t allow animals; otherwise I would take Zeke home with me. He’s a beautiful and graceful Great Dane. We spent ten minutes on the long path in the woods before we turned around to go back. “Do you want to go around the pond?” I asked him. He knew what I was asking, or rather, not asking. When we got to the pond, he sat obediently. I took off his leash and let him free.

Zeke bounded into the pond, splashing all around. The ducks nearby quacked at him and swam quickly away. I walked around the pond while he frolicked for a couple of minutes. When he was finished, he swam to me and jumped out of the pond. Before I knew it, he was ready to race me back to the shelter. I opened the gate to one of the fenced in yards and let him in there to dry.

 


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