Addicted Ch. 00-01

ADDICTED: FOREWORD

Guy meets girl and sparks fly!

James is a 26-year old personal trainer, just out of college on the GI Bill, and his new job takes him to Los Angeles. When he meets Elizabeth, a 24-year old accountant, they discover an unlikely wavelength that brings them together.

Told first-person from James's point of view, "Addicted" is a story of discovery and self-discovery, communication... and coming to terms with the original alternative sexuality: being promiscuous in an otherwise-committed relationship.

More than just sleeping around, it's a story that follows a couple as they explore what turns them on, from the most vanilla voyeurism to risky public exhibitionism.

Beyond the sex, the narrative touches on far deeper themes. The characters explore the nature of love, judgment and social prejudice. As origins, motivations and reactions come to light, the characters experiment in the wide overlap between enabling and acceptance.

Every chapter touches on something sexual, but not every chapter has sex.

There are themes and motifs here, starting with voyeurism and exhibitionism. "Cheating" is a recurring concept as well, but this isn't a "btb" story. Nor does the main character wander outside his cis-het comfort zone, so adjust expectations accordingly.

If the subject matter speaks to you, feel free to reach out in the comments, though please keep it polite. I'm all for gratuitous sex, but gratuitous negativity will be deleted.

Finally, this is an ongoing story. Chapters are still being planned and written... and if a reader has suggestions or an author is grooving to the story and would like to try their hand at a chapter, feel free to message me!

All the best,

Wilson Spalding

#

CHAPTER 1: COLLISION WITH A CUTIE

"Hey, James."

I tossed her a wave. "Hey, Carly."

She gave me one of her patented, dick-stiffening smiles and sauntered back toward the Smith machines. She was the head trainer at this gym, I was the specialist new guy. Here for all of about a week and I'd swear she was hitting on me.

Not only was she married, you're not supposed to dip your pen in the company inkwell...

Carly made that hard. Then again, I already heard from the other trainers that she was a tease. I was going with that and I'd play hard-to-get. Be safe and don't fuck up the work environment, you know? Be a shame to miss out on a Carly experience, but I just didn't chase it the way I used to.

I'm 26. I'm an old man. I spent four years getting shoved out of helicopters to get shot at by people whose names I still mispronounce. I bailed out, took my GI bill to get a degree in physical therapy and got hired by this place as an overqualified trainer.

Bing. That takes us to now.

A pirate in a do-rag and an ankle cast hobbled up. "Hey, are you James?"

"Yes, I am! And you..." I glanced at his ragged Spartan Race t-shirt. "You need to get back in fighting condition."

#

Everywhere I've been, the hardcores find each other. I'm right at the edge of that clique. When I was in, it was the Rangers or the Special Forces guys. They live and breathe it. Me? I like the intensity but I'll actually stop to smell the flowers. Even if they are poppies in Badakshan.

North Hollywood was its own kind of combat zone. Not the same as the Sandbox, obviously, or even Long Beach, where I finished my undergrad, but NoHo was the staging area for hungry people.

In the last week, I figured it out: the hardcores were here were chasing the dream. They need to look like gods for that camera test, and if they didn't get the Marvel call-back, there was always that Brazzers shoot. That's where I come in: I help them sculpt a bod that everybody else wants to look at. As a physical therapist, I got the real challenges.

What was a challenge for me: I knew nobody here. Not a soul. There was a bidding war for my license and this upscale Hollywood gym won. Love the money, but holy crap, I felt isolated while swimming in a sea of people.

An hour drive from school, on a good day, and did that even matter? Most of my civilian friends had graduated right along with me and were packing up for jobs across the country. Sure, I had friends who were still in, but they were either stationed in Kentucky, deployed in some place unfriendly... or they only lived in a picture frame on the mantle.

Yeah. That was one of the reasons I got out.

My new friends at the gym gave me some recommendations: where the hardcore show off their hard bodies. Two minutes on Google to figure out which ones had live bands and German brew on-tap, then my Friday was planned out.

#

$5 cover, 5 minute wait to get in. Dim lights and a sticker-covered road house feel. Not bad, all things considered.

Hard to hear inside, the band was in its first set of mostly Van Hagar covers, but they were pretty good.

"WHOT CANNAE GETCHA?!"

I pointed at the Leinenkugel sign. Yeah, it wasn't actually German, but it would do.

Behind, the door opened and a trio walked in. Two were in skirts, sheer blouses and lacey things underneath. Nice. The third didn't get the memo: she was in cargo capris, trail runners and a technical shirt tied off like she was Daisy Duke. I watched a moment longer to see if they were actually in the same party.

Yup.

Got my beer, listened for a couple minutes and pointed for a second round. Odd thing: I found myself looking for that trio again.

They'd parked themselves by the bar, close to one of the few overheads the shined down like a spotlight. I wasn't close enough to hear them, but in that one patch of light, I could make out details pretty well.

The two skirts had the kind of prettiness that comes from living on a StairMaster: cheekbones. The overhead accentuated the shirts and the lingerie underneath. They were all made up, hair done, definitely looked like the right kind trouble. It's been a while since I've been between a pair like that. Not quite matching, but could almost be lipstick lesbians.

The third girl was the sporty type. Jawline-length hair, teased out and mussed-up like she drove a Jeep here. A plain kind of pretty, but with chipmunk cheeks and a full lower lip that said even if she was bad at it, she'd still be good giving head.

With a bit of a squint, I saw tan lines on two of the three ring fingers. The skirts, naturally.

Ah. Girls' night out.

That made sporty girl the single-girl wingman. Or might actually be the token lesbian; I'm not a good judge. Or just the designated driver and cock-blocker for friends with beer goggles.

#

I finished my second beer as the first set finished.

Suddenly it was piped-in classic rock and I was staring at an empty glass. I glanced at the girls and caught one of the skirts looking. I cheers'd her with my empty glass and she giggled.

Okay, so this was happening.

I left my table but it took a minute to push through the crush. By the time I got there, some other guy had swooped in. Shit.

I pointed at the Yuengling sign. Also not a good night for German beer.

From over my shoulder, the conversation between the skirts and the new guy was still getting off the ground. It was hard to build a vibe shouting over the crowd noise.

"...No, I'm Claire, she's Chloe!"

I listened in, putting faces to the names. The girly girls could almost be sisters, sharing cheekbones and eye-liner technique. Claire was a blonde, Chloe was a redhead. Sporty-girl was not currently there. This was promising.

From over my other shoulder, back the other direction: "Bartender! Yuengling! Bar... dammit."

Okay, sorry, that was cute. Warm, feminine voice... I risked a glance to find Sporty Girl pouting toward the bartender.

I nodded at her. "Yeah, it's a bit noisy in here."

She leaned in. "What?"

The bartender reached across with my pint...

Which I immediately handed to sporty girl. "I said I have your beer."

"Oh! Really?"

"Yuengling, right?"

She immediately took a deep sip, getting beer foam on her upper lip. That was... evocative. Warm eyes, definitely cutesy chipmunk cheeks. No dimples, which was odd for those kinds of cheeks, but still a nice smile. Brown hair, brown eyes, and that full lower lip which I just... wanted... to...

"Hi, I'm James!"

"Lizzy! Well, Elizabeth, but my friends call me Lizzy."

One beer and we were friends. I was ready to leave the skirts behind.

I cheers'd her with a ghost pint and turned back to the bar tender, pointing back at the Yuengling sign. He glanced at me, glanced at Lizzy, laughed and had another pint in my hand ten seconds later.

Lizzy was shaking her head as we clinked glasses. "I get no respect."

"If it helps..." I gave an appraising look. Skinny ankles under those capris. Smallish boobs, but the tied-off shirt showed off some cut abs. "...You look great!"

She blushed a little. "Thanks! I was trying to... kinda... fly under the radar tonight."

I gave her another look. "Green cargo capris with... embroidery? Flowers. Nice. Utilitarian, yet girly. Columbia shirt tied off to show toned mid-riff. Ruggedized phone case. I like your style. Let me guess: you're a trail guide!"

"Nope!"

"You work at REI?"

"I'm an accountant."

"Wouldn't have guessed in a million years."

"Me neither," she shrugged. A beat later, she gave the appraising eye right back to me, scanning me like her Yuengling was a tricorder. "Let me guess: you're a personal trainer."

"Uh, well... yes, actually."

She nodded to herself, then shook her head. She tilted the beer back and tried to drain it, but she dribbled a bit and choked on the last. Again, the vision was... evocative.

I patted her on the back, trying to clear the beer from her lungs. "Are you okay?"

"Gawd, I'm so graceful."

"But are you okay?"

"I wasn't going to do this. I promised myself I wasn't going to do this."

"Do what?"

She looked up at me. Not sure how, but in that moment, she had the biggest, sexiest, warmest brown eyes. "Where are you parked?"

"I took an Uber."

"Me, too!" She laughed.

#

The Uber driver glanced at us. "Where?"

Lizzy looked at me. "Your place."

"Burbank and Fair," I directed.

"NoHo. Gotcha."

He punched it, throwing us back -- and her into my arms.

She looked up at me again, and maybe it was just the angle, but her eyes were suddenly huge, like the moon when it's just coming up. He lips were parted and that lower lip was just...

I leaned to kiss her and those lips were as soft as I'd imagined.

A moment later, a hint of tongue. A deep breath traded from her mouth to mine.

The kiss went on for blocks, through traffic.

She was leaning on my lap, and I realized her hand wasn't just resting on my thigh, it was traveling up my thigh until she was square on my bulge.

We came up for air long enough for her to look up again. Those eyes. She gave my crotch a squeeze. "Can I?"

"Can you? Yes?"

She lowered her head into my lap and I quickly unzipped. Five seconds later, my semi was a rod of iron as she settled that warm, wet mouth around it. That lip...? Felt as good as I'd imagined.

Her head started bobbing and holy shit... I wasn't going to last long.

I brushed the hair out of her face, staring at her. Plain, pretty, cutesy... but she was fucking hot with my cock in her mouth.

From the front, I saw the Uber driver glance in the rear view. I laughed and I guess he took that as an A-OK to move his mirror. I realized we probably weren't going to survive the ride as he watched this girl give me head in the back of his cab.

Suddenly I had an audience, and that was different. I felt just a shot of uncertainty and I guess Lizzy detected that zap through my dick. She glanced up at me, then up at the Uber driver, and realized she was being recorded by his interior camera.

She smiled for the camera, blew it a kiss, and went right back to my dick.

It was fucking amazing.

The driver slammed the brakes. "We're here, but..."

I put my hands on the back of her head. "Lizzy, I'm coming."

"...take your time," the driver finished.

She went into gentle suction mode, coaxing every last drop out of my dick. Again, those lips -- that lip... She swallowed and I saw stars.

Convinced I was empty, she finally sat up. She licked her lips and gave me that warm chipmunk smile again.

I almost kissed her, but the cum on her lips was too much, even if it was mine. I kissed her right cheek, then her left, then another kiss on her forehead. "Please come upstairs."

She smiled as I climbed out of the Uber -- and shook her head. The door closed a second later and the car took off.

"Son of a bitch," I mumbled to myself. "That was weird. Great... but weird."

That's when I saw the glint in the gutter. A phone.

I picked it up. It was her phone.