This led to some wicked suggestions (you naughty people), but I did agree that I would write an alternative chapter based around that. The possibility of stumbling across ‘Real Mike’ one day.
Most likely if it does ever happen, I’ll just eye candy his ass for as long as I can without getting arrested, and be too shy to actually say anything, but who knows. Maybe…?
For this story I have gone right back to the beginning, so Mike is younger than you all know him. Probably not much more innocent though!
-X
June 2018
I stepped out into the heat, dust, and traffic fumes of Louisville, the sharp bend where my friend business premises are based.
Carefully angling so that my lower arm wasn’t hit by a passing truck, as I stretched. Urgh, cooped up all morning.
I don’t know what it is about her rooms, but whenever I am here doing some training, I feel like someone is sapping my energy.
It’s like being smothered and I struggle to stay alert.
Apparently, she had to clear the place of many grumpy spirits before she started her business, and she says she couldn’t get rid of all of them, so maybe that’s the problem.
Much as I enjoy the training, I gave a sigh of relief as I turned away, my afternoon free, and headed down towards where I had left my car in a nearby estate.
I frowned as I turned the corner. There was a long-slung car stopped slightly awkwardly across the front of mine.
It was gleaming in the sun (someone washes their car), the shine almost too bright to look at. My mud-colored dust-mobile looming over it from behind.
(My car is actually dark blue, but you can’t often tell!)
I cursed; I’d only just got the damn thing fixed after the last asshole hit it while parked.
As I got closer, I could see a kid leaning over the hood of my car, it looked like he was writing on a pad. At least he had the decency to leave his details.
He had a lovely arse, so I allowed myself a ten second perving session, before shutting it down. He looked barely old enough to have passed his test, and one must maintain standards.
The kid raised his head slightly to check his watch, before bending back to the notepad. I nearly laughed out loud.
This was no kid. It was Mike. My naughty sext-buddy who sadly never progressed to fuck-buddy.
Apparently, the chances of bumping into him were not as low as I had thought, although I had known he lived here-about-somewhere.
Well, how does the saying go? You are only as old as the guy you are copping a feel of.
Maybe it should be, you are only as old as the guy you are considering copping a cheeky feel of, because suddenly I felt twenty-six again, and almost sprightly!
And considering all of the things that I had previously discussed doing to that arse with its owner, I was most definitely allowed to purve, and did so, as I walked closer.
Hearing my footsteps, Mike looked up again. He flushed slightly as he realized I was the owner of the car he was leaning on. He stood up straight and looked nervous.
I reined in a grin. Mike had no clue who I was. This was going to be so much fun.
“Please tell me there’s not too much damage,” I moaned at him.
“No, hardly anything,” he shook his head, “I was…the mirror, um,” he stopped, watching me cautiously when I raised a hand.
“What the fuck is that noise?” I asked.
I guess I had been distracted by the delightful grabbiness of Mike’s ass, but now I was aware of an insistent wailing noise, coming from the house opposite.
Mike huffed out a half laugh, “Shall I start at the beginning?”
“Please do,” I said, my tone cool, not giving an inch, as I leant against his car. (I wasn’t going to lean on mine. It’s filthy!)
Mike swallowed, “So this kid came out into the road on a scooter thing as I was driving by. Just came out of nowhere. That’s him crying, his Mom was furious. Well,” he stopped, a slight smile touching his lips, “I guess he scared her.”
God, he’s adorable, I thought. I bet he can remember a telling off or two himself. He was probably a right little scamp. Most likely still is.
“I had to swerve,” he continued, “I think the mirror’s wrecked, but there’s no other damage.”
“Hmmm,” I said, before pushing off his car and walking to the back of mine.
I walked slowly around, examining my car carefully.
When I stopped to rub at a scuff on the back drivers side wheel arch, Mike started to speak, “That can’t have been me, I.” he stopped when I rudely held up a hand again.
He folded his arms across his chest, the only sign of his temper fraying slightly.
I was impressed actually; I wouldn’t have expected him to be so restrained. Mike’s normally quite sparky.
Walking forward I could see the mirror bent back on itself, looking slightly askew, and badly scuffed.
Mike started to speak again, and I shushed him.
This time he swore under his breath and turned away, leaning against a nearby wall and glaring at me.
I expect he was itching to strangle my obnoxious self already.
I was feeling frisky, and couldn’t resist teasing him, so I also did a thorough check of his car.
“There’s no damage,” he said, and then cursed again, looking away when I just stared at him.
Once I had finished my inspection, I bleeped my car and slung my bag onto the back seat.
“Do you know how much those mirrors cost?” I grumbled as I tuned back to Mike.
“Yea, I’m really sorry, but mirror, or squashed child,” he waved his hand from side, like he was saying what choice did he have?
Sighing, and giving the clear impression I thought he had made the wrong choice, I held out my hand for the notepad.
I could almost see the think bubble above Mike’s head, at this point it would have read ‘WHAT A BITCH’.
Yea, yea, I know what you are all thinking, I’m a terrible person, teasing this poor young man so.
Ha! Serves him right for ghosting me, instead of growing a pair and telling me what was going on.
Not that I’m bitter. I had always known Mike was a sweetheart (albeit a stroppy one) and would have had good reason for his actions. But I had been hurt, and revenge is sweet.
“Mike Smith,” I read from his note, “I don’t suppose you have your driver’s licence so I can confirm these details are real?” I asked nastily.
Boom!
“What the fuck?” Mike exploded, “Why the fuck would I bother leaving details at all if they were fake? What is your problem?”
“Would you mind not shouting at me,” I asked calmly.
Mike turned away again, gripping his hair, and cursing steadily, it was impressive watching him pull his temper back.
I decided I should probably stop winding him up before he actually belted me. Shame though; no one pronounces ‘fuck’ quite as delightfully as Mike does.
Then he turned back and spoke through gritted teeth, “I didn’t mean to shout, and I’m sorry, but I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t be so insulting. It was an accident and I’m trying to do the right thing here.”