It's the end of Fleet Week in New York City--and the concluding chapter in Kimmie's story "Bad Girl." Sigh. I hate to see the sailors and the bad girl go. I was having drinks in a little bar in the Village with J, a male friend, yesterday when some sailors came in and sat at the bar beside us. J insisted on buying their drinks. The sailors said they wanted to thank New Yorkers for the warm welcome they received in the city.
One commented, "A lot of people in other parts of the country think New Yorkers are cold people and anti-military. Nothing could be further from the truth. Men and women of all ages and races have stopped us on the street to say 'thank you for doing a great job.' Thank you, New York from the U.S. Navy and Marines!"
I opened my laptop and showed them the SexyPrime blog. Kimmie has new fans. And once again, I am proud to say, here's Kimmie:
BAD GIRL, The Conclusion
He jogged up and kicked the ball away from me this time, grinning at me over his shoulder as he ran back onto the field. Goodness. Dimples. I took a deep breath and shook my head back, enjoying the swish of my own hair on my back and the sun on my face. I closed my eyes again, thinking about how he might ask me to come home with him after the game.
He would probably celebrate with his team first, a writhing knot of men high-fiving and slapping each other’s rear ends, all sweaty and dirty from running and sliding around the field. I saw white shorts streaked with brown and dusty cleats, and lots of wet chests and arms twirling their shirts overhead. There would be chest-bumps and back-pounding and yelling as they crowed their superiority over the other team. He’d be on an adrenalin high, I’m sure, pumped up on his team’s success.
The tight group would start to disperse after a bit, separate conversations and schedules drawing them away from each other, back to the real world. He’d probably grab his bag and make sure his pants and shirt were in it, and maybe change his sneakers. He’d glance my way once or twice to see if I was still there, but I would hide my eyes behind sunglasses so he couldn’t tell if I was looking at him or not.
As he got closer, I would stand up and gather my things. I wouldn’t want him to think I was waiting there for him, or that I had all the time in the world to sit and talk to him. A girl doesn’t want to be an easy target, after all. I would time it so that I was just about ready to leave as he got close enough to speak to me without yelling.
“Hi again,” he would say, his dimples and lips curling into that gorgeous smile. I would laugh, acknowledging his boyish behavior from earlier, and probably tuck my hair behind my ear. “Going somewhere?” he might ask, and I would say something about how my sun time was just about up for the day, lots of things to do. “I’ll walk with you for a bit,” he’d probably say, shifting his bag to one shoulder as he stepped next to me. “Ladies first!”
We would chat about this and that as we strolled, keeping things light and fun. We’d probably make each other laugh a lot, and I would be keeping track in my mind of all his admiring glances. Suddenly, he would stop. I’d go a step further until I realized it, and then turn back to him to see what was going on. I’d turn right into that wonderful smile. He’d put his hand out, and mine would kind of float into it on its own. “Listen,” he would say. “I think you’re adorable. I just had to come over and meet you today. You looked so ravishing relaxing there in the sun, and then when I saw you smile, my brain… well, it sort of exploded. My place is right across the street. Why don't you come over while I take a shower and then we can go get something to eat? I really, really don’t want to let you go right now.”
All the thoughts I had of him nude on the bed would flood into my head, filling my brain and eyes until I couldn’t see. I would stand there in the street, frozen, my hand in his, staring dumbly at him while my poor brain tried to remember how to do something other than flash pictures of his naked body at me. It was showing me how he would look walking out of the bathroom, his tight waist wrapped in a towel and his skin still glistening from the hot water. His strong calves would move him closer to me as his hands slowly unwrapped that towel, revealing everything I’d been fantasizing about and more…
My phone rang, interrupting my reverie. On the field, the game was still going strong. I glanced at the caller ID. It was a man. MY man, my gorgeous man whose body I did know for real. I picked up and smiled. He was home early. I gathered my things and stood up, taking one last glance down at the field. He might not know it, but I was taking that soccer player home with me, too. He was already in my head, he might as well stay there for a while.
Such a bad girl!
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