Season 2 Ch. 01- Back in the Saddle

*Ring-ring. Ring-Ring. Ring-Ring*

Fuck. Now what?

I reached over and finger-stabbed the 'Answer' button under Finn's face.

"What do you want, Finn?"

"Hey Max! Just calling to check..."

"You tell that small-dicked fat fuck listening in that I told you 'End of the Week'. That's three days away. And now, for every time you call me until I send you the rewritten pages, I'm going to tack on and extra day and spend the rest of the day after our phone call digging up more dirt on the bastard. End of the week. Bye Finn."

I stabbed the disconnect button and went back to rewriting chapter twenty-six.

Back for more of my bullshit huh? You must be a bigger glutton for punishment than I am. You know there are clubs you can go to and get the shit kicked out of you by a PVC clad hottie whose probably better looking than me, right? Or at least has better tits.

Anyway, if you're still interested, let's catch you up.

It's been over two months since I rolled down the hill away from Tawny's party and into the California night. It took me a solid hour to get out of the Greater LA area and, when I did, I realized I was on the highway heading for San Francisco instead of San Antonio. That was my final 'Fuck it' moment of the night. I shut off my phone, ignoring the half-dozen phone calls and texts I'd already ignored, threw it in the back and rolled right up that California coast. Sorta.

If I'd actually planned this trip instead of doing it blind like I was, I would have snuck over to Highway 1 and cruised up the Pacific Coast Highway. Instead, I trundled up the very dull US 5 until I saw signs for Route 101 along the ocean near San Fran.

'What the hell', I told myself. Breakfast watching the sunrise over the Golden Gate Bridge will be fun.

Bullshit.

I saw the lights of the Bridge in the dark hours of early morning when I pulled into an overlook diner to eat. Then I saw the fog. And not just ANY fog! I'm from a coastal town so I'm used to a bit of fog on some mornings. Oh no. This was fog you could chisel like marble. I couldn't even see my car out the window and I parked it only about fifteen feet away from where I was sitting!

What I COULD see were the headlights of the lunatics zipping along the highway at seventy miles an hour like it was a normal thing to be able to see to the end of your hood.

So, not willing to throw myself into the unseen unknown, I stayed put, drinking coffee and eating my clown pancakes with their ice cream sprinkles and extra whipped cream. It was still my birthday dammit and I was going to have cake no matter what!

Eventually, I settled in to watch the fog burn off and figure out my route. After clearing my phone of unread texts and unheard voicemails, then a bit of mental time zone gymnastics, I put in a call to my bank to inform them of my change in plans and where to expect charges to my account.

Riveting stuff, I know! Here, just for you- 'Butt sex'.

But you have to understand my state of mind at the time- I felt like... well, I felt like I had been assaulted on just about every level and (Which may or may not have made it worse.) that I'd helped in my own violations. I couldn't trust myself and wouldn't trust anyone else right away either. The one thing I knew for sure- I wasn't suicidal. I had a problem and I needed time to figure it out.

Before I got back in the car with a full tank of gas, half a cup of coffee and two boxes of Ho-Hos (Make your own 'eating Hoes' joke here.), I sent out one text to everyone concerned.

"Travelling. I'm Okay. Be home when I'm home. Don't bother me. I won't answer."

The plan was relatively simple- drive North until I needed gas (About five, five and a half hours, give or take.) then stop for the night in a hotel. Nap (Because, boy did I need one!). Have dinner, continue to gorge myself on comforting garbage foods watching TV, sleep. In the morning, I would have a good breakfast, drive until I needed gas. have lunch, drive until I needed gas again, find a hotel, have dinner, watch TV, sleep. Repeat.

I drove North to Seattle, then turned right (East) and kept going.

I didn't write. I didn't talk-to-text story ideas or chapters. I didn't stop at interesting scenic vistas or historical points of interest. I ate in chain restaurants right along the highway. I watch the Phillies play on a big screen in a 'sports bar' (Not a euphemism for a strip club, sorry.). I didn't go looking for adult stores or bookstores or anything spicier than a Wal-Mart for more road snacks.

I protected myself. Early on, I stopped for lunch and gas at one of those stores that caters to truckers and bought one of those heavy truncheons they use to 'check their tires', keeping it near at hand for the rest of the trip. I refused to stop at any place that had a motorcycle outside (Which is, in hindsight, horribly unfair of me regarding MOST riders as they are generally decent folks but 'once bitten' and all that. I'll get past it eventually.). I always asked for ground-floor rooms to avoid the elevators and stairwells.

I didn't flirt. The Sluts App was shut off entirely.

It took me six days of radio station hopping, snack food binging, butt numbing driving to go from LA to Seattle to Philly. Under other circumstances, I might have stretched this out to two weeks of mucking about writing and sightseeing. And honestly, I couldn't tell you shit about most of the states I went through. I'd have to refer to my credit card statement to know what TOWNS I was in.

And why isn't there a Buc-ee's North or West of Colorado already? That is a national disgrace right there.

It was another two days of unpacking, laundry and settling back into a regular routine before I sent out-

"Home. Trip uneventful. Work enquiries only. Thank you."

To her credit and of no amount of surprise on my part, Tabitha managed to wait a whole hour before bursting through my door full of piss and vinegar.

"You fucking hairless gibbon! Do you have ANY idea what Nancy and I had to deal with after you... you RAN AWAY?"

I picked up my phone and dialed her number. She just glared at me as it rang in her purse.

"Actually, no." I said into my phone, maintaining eye contact. "I'm still not feeling myself and would not like any visitors just yet. Thank you for being considerate of my feelings at this time."

"You got laid by some girls a lot rougher than you like," she spat back. "Grow a pair and get over it!"

"Get. Over. It?" I hissed, eye-to-eye before my desk chair skittered with a crash against the wall. "Is that what you would tell Nancy? 'You got wet and orgasmed a lot, you must have been okay with it then. Pull up you Big Girl Panties and get over it!'?

"That's different and you know it," she countered, trying to stare me down. Admittedly, this has worked before because she's got three inches on me in flats, let alone a good set of heels.

"Oh my god! Are you REALLY going to play the 'If it was a REAL assault, the male body has ways of shutting that shit down' card?"

"You told us you were into it when it started!"

"ONE! One kinky-hot blonde biker chick looking to hate-fuck a stranger standing in for her ex-boyfriend! Not blindfolded and gang-banged by a half-dozen then dumped in the desert like I was nothing! NOTHING!"

My voice cracked.

"They hurt me Tabby... they hurt me and... and... and I helped them do it."

I flailed for the kitchen counter, missed and fell into her arms. Transitioning didn't do shit to make her weak.

"Just like Jessica... I set myself up to be hurt and... and then I'm surprised when it happens. I could have found out she was married at any time. All I had to do was ask."

There it was, the piece that had been eluding me the last two weeks- I was expecting to be hurt and accepting it, even helping it along as my due when the chance arose. How long had this been going on? How long had I had a good thing going and unconsciously sabotaging it? How long had I been shooting myself in the proverbial foot?

(Not the thing with George. He'd been a dark cloud over my time with my publisher forever. The explosion over the deadnaming of Tabitha was just the straw that broke the camel's back.)

By the time Nancy arrived, summoned by Tabitha's SOS, I'd cried myself unconscious on the couch.

Look, I know you just want the hot and sticky sex bits. We'll get there when we get there. For now, you get the messy mentally fucked shit.

Doctor Giles at the Clinic was surprised to see me during regular hours and it had been over two months since I'd been available for one of her after-hours sessions. We haven't really gotten a chance to discuss those, but it should be enough to know there's a reason I edge a few times a day and really push my fluids.

Remind me and I'll try and fill you in about this someday.

Anyway, she was able to give me a psyche consult with a good therapist (Who also works with those in Dr G's after-hours group.) and she's given me a lot to think about and to work on. And no, she only fucks really rich guys with certain fetishes and I'm not on either of those lists.

Thankfully. *shudder*

Which isn't to say I haven't been naked for her. Again, Dr G's After-Hours sessions.

But you don't really want to hear anything about those, right?

I took this time off to finish my book- the last one I would write for Sanderson publishing. I knocked out the last chapter and polished up the bibliography (Would you like to know more?) and dropped it in Finn's in-box three whole weeks early (I was most of the way there before leaving for Cali.). Out of respect for me and our pseudo-friendship over the years, he edited it himself before George was aware he had it and sent me the revisions.

This is what I was working on when I got the phone call at the beginning. It's a different sort of hook but I'm trying to mix it up a bit. My therapist says it's a good idea to try a bit of variety. Right before she hits my insurance for a house payment.

To be honest, I only had an hour or so left to go on it and planned to send it back just after business hours or schedule it to send at 2am because sometimes you simply must be a dick to enjoy the little victories.

One of my most basic rituals after finishing one of my historical novels is to spend a few hours in the library before taking myself out to dinner. I know that sounds a bit strange given that my spare bedroom and most of the living room are given over to books. And the easy access to knowledge thanks to the internet. But there's something to be said for sitting in a nice, quiet library, steeped in the smell of old paper and leather, turning pages of some tome older than the US as a country while wearing cotton archivists' gloves... did I mention I went to college to be a librarian? One of my big regrets is that I still haven't finished the degree my parents sent me to school for.

Plus, you know, Evie O'Connell- Rachel Weisz in 'The Mummy'. Damn.

And who doesn't think her brother Jonathan saw some shit in the trenches during WWI and that's why he's playing the drunken fool all the time? To forget? Don't give me that 'He was only eight at the time!' nonsense. Slander I tell you, it's slander!

Double Plus! I would have made a pretty hot/hunky librarian myself. Don't roll your eyes like that. You'll hurt yourself.

Anyway... I went to my favorite 'not at home' reading spot in a facility that shall remain nameless for reasons to be made clear shortly, waved to the folks behind the desk and headed upstairs to a nicely secluded spot where a soft leather chair caught the sun just enough to be pleasant but not uncomfortable. Many is the time I've settled into that chair and lost and hour or two reading something at random off the shelf.

Or napping, especially after a long day or late night because: comfy chair plus warm sunlight plus quiet room equals everyone turning into a cat.

And who doesn't like a nice warm pussy... cat?

I'd been there the better part of an hour, alternating between staring out the window and rereading the same paragraph for the third or fourth time, when I head the quiet trundle of the book return cart. By now, I knew most of the staff by name and could count on a simple 'hello' or a brief, friendly chat while they put books away near me.

Now, normally librarians dress conservatively for utility and comfort. They deal with the public, especially children and the elderly, behind a desk in a climate-controlled building and so forth. Slacks, a nice blouse and flats or sneakers usually does it for most ladies. The 'hot librarian' look is for movies and fantasies.

So, when Olivia came around the corner wearing two-inch red pumps, a loose skirt that didn't reach her knees and blouse open enough that I could tell her bra matched her shoes, I will admit to being a bit more than surprised. I mean, she normally ticks all the boxes for 'hot librarian' anyway- nice body, big smile, super friendly and helpful, occasionally stern, often flirty, offers a nice view of her cleavage when sitting behind the desk. In short, the makings of a wet dream. Or at least spank bank material.

"Whoa, you look..." Kind words failed me. I didn't think 'fuck-able' was appropriate to the setting.

"Pornographic?" she supplied, tossing a quick look around before approaching me. "I've had two old ladies tell me I look like a cheap Spanish hooker and I think Donny the homeless guy is whacking it in the Men's Room on One as we speak."

"Well, I was going to say 'like Penelope Cruz'," I lied with a smile. Donny had the right idea. "But I can see the porno thing too. Going for a 'Pin-Ups of the Library' photo shoot today?"

"Oh! Like Bunny Yeager shooting Bettie Page or a Vargas Girl or Olivia? You think so?" She struck a pose, kicking up one heel and putting a finger to her mouth in a 'shushing' gesture.

"If memory serves, the Vargas Girls are all very posed, ephemeral and everything they wear is skin-tight. And you are sadly much MUCH more dressed than Bettie or any of your namesake's cheesecake prints. I'm getting more of an Elvgren or Zoe Mozart vibe. Much more 'you can see this in real life' sexy-attractive."

"So, you think I look good, huh?" She twirled around once, giving me a full view before stopping with her hands on her hips.

"I mean, I'll probably wait until I get home, but yeah, I can see myself jacking off to you for sure." No point in lying about it- she looked perfectly fuckable. And last I knew, she had a boyfriend. "What's with the look? Swinging the 'Hot Latina' booty to get some more funding? Trying to bring more pervs into the library? "

"Why?" she purred, bending at the waist to brace herself on the back of the chair. Quite certainly her perfume wasn't the only thing I could smell this close. "Know any?"

"One or two." Dozen. I looked her in the eye (Which was especially difficult given the view down her blouse that showed off her lacy half-cup bra!) and touched her inner thigh just below the hemline of her skirt. She nodded encouragingly and I began stroking her leg from knee to the top of her stocking. I quick caress of my fingers told me that she might be taking some cues from de Berardinis by wearing a garter belt. "But that still doesn't explain this."

And that's when I bushed my fingertips over the lace crotch of her panties.

"I... oohhh... I got laid ah-off last week," she confessed in my ear while I continued playing with her pussy through her panties. She opened her legs wider and that half-bra lost control of her nipples, now poking nice little tents against the tightness of her blouse. "Budget cuts. Wha... we drew straws. Ay-yi... huh huh I lost."

"Lots of that going around lately," I supplied, still just rubbing the crotch of her undies. I steadied her by reaching up with my free hand and lightly pinching her nipple through her blouse. "Today's your last day?"

"Ahhh fuck.. I mean... yeah." She started rocking her hips back and forth, increasing the pleasure of my hand between her legs. "I wanted to-ooo leave my fa-have-vorite regulars with... huh... with something to-ooooh... to remember me by."

"Leaving an impression on me," I admitted, feeling her moist, swollen lips pressing through the silk and lace separating our skin. "What'd you boyfriend think when you left this morning?"

"The AH! huh-huh... fuck... asshole dumped me when I got fired! Left me for some girl he met on this... oh shit... this hook-up app." By now, I used my whole hand, letting her grind against the heel while massaging her slit with my fingers through the slick silk. Fumbling for her pocket, she barely managed to show me the screen before dropping it in my lap. She moaned when it came to rest against my erect bulge. "S-ah-said I was a boring lay and needed to use it myself"

I let go of her tit to pick it up, letting my fingers linger a bit where she could watch. Sure as shit, it was the Sluts App. And blinking away was a single local contact.

I took out my phone and accepted the hookup so she where she could see me do it.

"Wha... why are you teasing me like this?" She groaned in my ear as I slid my hand under the front panel of her panties and started rubbing the smoothly shaved mound underneath.

"Because you want me to," I replied, slowing down to torment her more, but also question myself. Had I misread the situation? She was obviously flirting with me and gave me the go-ahead at the beginning, right? Therapy will do this to you- help you move on, but also force you to ask the questions. Which isn't a bad thing but can kill the mood if you aren't careful. "Did I make a mistake? Were you hoping for something a little less intimate?"

"God no! Don't stop!" she panted in my ear, her hips still rocking her crotch against my hand. Her breathing labored, she began kissing and biting my ear and throat. "As soon as I sa-ahw you cum... come in, I was hooo... oh fuck... hoping you were ah-up here." I stayed on the outside of her panties, so tantalizingly close to fingering her, yet so far away.

"Oh? And just what did you have in mind?" I stopped moving my hand, pressing both middle and ring fingers firmly against the silk-hidden nub of her clit. She hissed, almost collapsing, but a steady hand dropped onto my thigh, squeezing my bulge.

"I wah-ah-was going to take you upstairs to the language labs," She struggled, very close to the edge now. Her skinned flushed a very beautiful pink and the hands on my shoulder and dick suddenly tightened their grip. "Soundproof rooms where we could have fucked all afternoon."

"Sounds like fun. Let's go." I started pulling my hand away but her legs clamped tight around it, holding me in place. I looked up into her eyes and smirked. She lunged down, our lips meeting fiercely. Her whole body shook, her eyes wide. All I had done was played with her pussy and nipples without ever touching either of them and here she was, climaxing as though we had just had sex. Something to be said for being naughty and lewd in a public place.

"No way buster!" she panted as I lowered her down to sit on my knee. Flushed and a little sweaty, she gently drew my hand out from under her skirt, where I was teasing her mound for another round. "After what you did just now, I'm not going to settle for some quick backroom bang. Since I've only got ten minutes left of my day here, I'm gonna take you home where I can properly ride your cock until neither of us can walk."

Okay, here's where I make a little confession. The few therapy sessions I'd had so far hadn't 'cured' everything. Hadn't really 'cured' anything really because I'm not really sick. Look, I'm not going to go into a huge thing about mental health issues and practices and trauma after an assault because this isn't where you would go to get that sort of information. What I AM going to tell you is that I hadn't even TRIED to have sex again since that last day in Cali when Tawny and Jessica tried to jump-start my motor and I psyched myself into a bloody nose. Doctor G had offered me a spot in one of her upcoming after-hours sessions to see how I did, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it until after I'd met my therapist.

So that's why, when Olivia made her offer, no matter how turned on I was (And boy! Was I ever ready to go!), my stomach started doing flip-flops, anxiety spiking. Why hadn't it jumped earlier? Dunno. Maybe because I was relaxed and receptive to the idea and now... reality?

Anyway, slow your roll big man...

"Tell you what, since we're going to do this, and by 'this' I mean each other for the rest of the night; why don't we make it a bit more of an event?" I offered. "I just wrapped up a new book and when I do that, I usually go out to dinner somewhere decently nice and treat myself, so why don't we celebrate my new book and your new opportunities?"

"Riding your dick is an 'opportunity'?" She looked offended. I had the good sense to catch that at least.

"There are any number of people who would hotly debate you on that particular topic and I'm smart enough to not be one of them. If everything goes well and we DO end up sleeping together, I'd consider it my good fortune to be welcomed to your bed."

"Oh, very slick. Does that line work often?" She got off my lap, allowing me to get up and gather my things.

"I'm a single male who makes a living writing history novels and secret smut in my book-filled apartment, dependent on a phone app for sex- what do you think?" I slung my satchel then offered her my arm.

"I think I want to see this apartment of yours after dinner." She laced her arm through mine as we headed for the main stairs. "After dinner. Where are you taking me?"

"Given how our *ahem* 'conversation' started AND that I have a living pin-up as my guest for the evening, I think your namesake would rain fire down upon my head if I didn't take you to the Cheesecake Factory."

Spoiler alert!

Everything works. No bloody nose. No upset stomach.

And the whole 'hot Latina and horny librarian' combination? One-hundred and ten percent worth every minute.

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Once again, thank you for reading my work. I hope you are enjoying these stories. Please leave a rating or review if you can.

Continued in the next installment- Max Connors Season 2 Ch 2- Indecent Proposal

Comments and questions are always welcome.

A rundown of the previous 'Season' Of Max Stories can be found on the Forum at-

And this new Season will be gathered-

As always, I can usually be found in the Lit Lobby getting my Chat on and would love to talk with you after 8pm EST!

Be safe, sane, consensual and don't forget to Eat the Cookies!