Content warning: explicit
En route to my temporary rented house in Marina Del Rey, I could not help noticing how beautiful and clean Los Angeles was. Yes, I have visited here before, mainly on business trips. However, at all times, a car service drove me to and from meetings, and I had never experienced the belly of the city. My idea of vacation near a beach is usually Miami or Maui, but I love it here.
Now, if I could only get my driver to shut up, he talked too much. I longed for the days of a partition between you and the driver and the thingy that raises the divider up and down. While my mind was elsewhere, my driver rambled with opinions and questions.
“Why are you in Los Angeles? Where do you work? Who do you work for?”
These questions would typically cause an East Coast girl to go off in a New York minute. Moreover, when in Rome, I wanted to be cordial. My short answers should have been a hint,
‘Yes, no, maybe, wow, absolutely.’ I never heard what he said, only waiting for a pregnant pause. Eventually. I had to enlighten my driver, “I’m meditating!” This declaration caused me to keep my eyes closed the entire way, but anything for a moment of peace!
My Airbnb turned out to be a waterfront property with a clear ocean view—how lucky am I? I thought upon arrival.
While looking around, I quickly unpacked my suitcase to release the wrinkles in my clothes. I felt the feeling of freedom here, not stressed by looking over my shoulder for a purse-snatcher or kicking a broken crack pipe in front of my door. Renting a Jeep was a terrific idea. I plan to ride top-down around the town through Malibu with cut-off shorts, sunglasses, and a halter-top. No one would ever know that I had just secured a six-figure-a-year contract with one of the biggest financial firms in the world. Cali allows me to be all my personalities without them knowing about each other.
My bungalow is quaint and serene. The furniture is white, and the front room is overflowing with beautiful plants and blooming Magnolia lilies. Nag Champa incense filled the house, and French vanilla scented the candles. The cornucopia of fragrances is reminiscent of my date’s corsage pinned on me for the prom. I’m happy that the place looked exactly like the picture on the Airbnb photo site. Thank God the description was accurate—you never know when reserving online.
A girl was particularly pleased that the host packed the complimentary wine rack with my favorite seasonal Beaujolais Nouveau, introduced to me years ago by one of my ETs (Extra-Trade), a beautiful face. The wine is famous because it has no sulfates; one must consume it quickly. The house also had only white towels without fabricated dyes, which was my request, especially when contacting my girly parts. The owner also provided me with an arsenal of baby wipes. The property met my expectations, and I will write an excellent review.
The packing, planning, and hardly any sleep on the flight exhausted me, and I needed to unwind from the long trip; thus, I took off all my clothes and bathed in the Jacuzzi tub. I thought, Ooh, it felt so good to relax. Afterward, I slithered into the complimentary, plush, white, terry cloth robe provided for me, threw my body on the cream-colored sofa, and poured a glass of Beaujolais.
I daydreamed out the window, gazing at the partial view of the ocean, which rests between my past and present life, and I celebrated my temple’s re-erection on a deserted Island.” I was alone, thinking about everything and anyone I had left behind and thanking the universe for giving my life new meaning. I also considered myself a solitary tourist in this romantic house, with no neighbors within earshot. Before I knew it, I was pacing the floor.
My mind began to travel as I walked towards the bedroom, unzipped my bag, and asked Alexa to search for my favorite sensual song by Bernadette Cooper, ‘Love Therapy.’ My Magic Wand vibrator and I climbed into the all-white bed with a goose-down comforter and adorning high-thread-count sheets. Then, I positioned my body.
I adjusted the speed to low, as I wanted to deal with this matter slowly, not the typical rush job, when I felt guilty afterward, frustrated by the lack of a real man, and threw the vibrator across the room. No, I will enjoy every bit of this moment. The humming of the motor began to turn me on as I tried to find the correct spot to touch down. I wandered, searching for an image to pull out of my subconscious. I needed a mental movie and a virtual star to feature in it. I typically thought of men’s cocks and, most recently, the visuals of rap star ‘The Game’ in his Instagram selfie. I visualized the shape of his thick, hard member engorged in his underwear. He has been my go-to buddy lately. The thought of him standing before me with all that girth, and I began begging him to anoint my lips with his throbbing fatty.
I descended into his world. Yes, I want to ride in his old school low-rider, Impala, the hydraulics slamming me up and down as my head bangs, ripping the headliner because he failed to open the sunroof. Turning the speed too high, I began to tweak and was on the verge of exploding too fast. For that reason, I paused and slowed the pace; while I gathered myself and redirected my focus, I zoomed back in and again placed his cock print into my mental spotlight.
My concentration again was soon distracted by life, bills, and flashes of me behind the desk at my new job. Frantic, I decided to google ‘The Games’ picture on my cell phone for direct visuals. Now I’m holding my phone in my left hand, the vibrating magic wand in my right, and focusing intensely on that massive erection and what his ghetto prison ass would do to me in bed. The many surrendering positions and, then, he would force his temporary love inside of me; yeah, make this Magnum Business graduate pay ‘Game’ for being the intellectual slut that I am, I visualized.
Suddenly, my body began to tremble, transfixed, as my mind switched gender lines. Lured by the thought of Starr Love, I reminisced about her lips and how she looked at me. Flashing back, I imagined she mouthed something I did not understand then. Searching for a reason not to deny pleasure any longer, I lifted to another galaxy and then put meaning to her mouthed words, “Welcome to planet sexy, I-will-fuck-you-down!” I placed the vibrator roughly on my protruding wet-ness, and I swear, if I weren’t a freak, I would think I was gay because I came like a lesbian.