A Booty Call Backfires - Sex Stories

A Booty Call Backfires

... police!” I said, becoming agitated. “No, I need you!” she begged. “Come quick. Please!” “Christy,” I urged, “Get out. Now!” “I'm afraid!” she said, dropping her voice so low, I almost couldn't hear her. “If I open the door, he'll hear me.” Frantically, I tried to think. “Please Jay,” she interrupted. “Come now. Please, come now!” “I'll be right over,” I stammered. “Hide somewhere. Now!” “I will.” The phone went dead. I was worried. I threw on the nearest clothes, grabbed my wallet, my keys, and pulled on the treasured, vintage bombardier jacket I had discovered in a second-hand clothing store a few years earlier. I had to admit, I felt a little bad assed when I wore it. I jumped in my car to make the ten minute drive to the duplex she rented. It was a small apartment in an older home that had been subdivided. I knew Christy lived there alone. As I drove, zipping through yellow traffic signals, close to midnight, I wondered what could have happened. Could it be a burglar who thought the apartment was empty? I thought some more. Who breaks into a house in a neighborhood full of poor, college students? Someone who’s drunk. Or high on something. I nudged the accelerator forward. As I sped through a series of “pink” traffic signals, my mind wrestled with the situation. Christy was sharp as a tack. She'd know enough to keep out of sight. But Christy also had a mischievous sense of humor. And she wasn’t above playing a practical joke. The closer I got, the more I began to wonder, ...

... was this a prank? I parked the car on the street, one door down, crept up to the front door and pushed it open without knocking. Moving as quietly as possible, I stepped into the kitchen, set my keys on the table, pulled off my coat, and looked toward the counter, hoping I’d find a big, kitchen knife without having to open any drawers that might squeak. As I did, I spotted Christy in the far corner, sitting on the floor with her knees pulled up, her arms folded over them and her head down on her arms. She still was dressed in jeans and a sweater, but I noticed her feet were bare. Maybe getting out wasn't an option after all. Suddenly, she looked up at me. Her shoulder-length, auburn hair fell away from her oval face, and her liquid brown eyes met mine. Eyes that a man could easily drown in. Until she smiled, that is. Because once those cute dimples emerged on either side of her pair of luscious lips, it was hard for a man to decide where to look first. At the moment, though, no one was smiling. My eyes remained locked on hers. “Where?” I hissed. “Bedroom." I grabbed the biggest knife I could find. I wasn't really sure what I'd do with it, but I hoped I’d look scary holding it. I crept down the hall to her bedroom, praying the floor wouldn’t squeak. As I thought about my feet, I nearly collided with an impossibly large hanging plant dangling from a massive hook in the ceiling in front of a window. It hung so low only kids and dogs didn’t have to step around it. The bedroom door ...