Hunting Pixies

Hunting Pixies, Part 13

This is a continuation of my series. Most of it has been under the Romance category, but I'm trying Erotic Couplings with this installment, because, why not? The only overt sex in this installment is at the beginning, and is pretty tame, so if that's all you're here for, please don't ding me on the ratings. This chapter is heavy on banter and flirting, light on moving the story too far forward. I'm getting close to the resolution of what I've planned for the overall story of Steve and Margaret, and am open to input on where I might take things from there with these characters. This one was fun to write, hope you enjoy reading it.

I sit Margaret down on the bathroom counter and adjust the shower as she watches, swinging her legs and smiling. "Mmm, I want ALL the water, and extra hot. I want to wash my hair now so I won't have to before I leave in the morning."

The thought of parting in the morning is like a slap in the face, and I don't allow myself to dwell on the pain. "What time do you need to leave?"

Margaret beckons me to stand in front of her while the water heats up, parting her legs to pull me in close. She puts her hands around my waist, and I drape mine over her shoulders. She pulls me in for a quick kiss, then responds, "I'm not sure. I know it took me like ten hours to come down..."

"It's 420 miles from here, so it should take you a lot less without the Ocala and Villages traffic. You can do it in 7 or 8 hours. Plus, you lost the hour. You'll gain it back going to central time..."

"Sounds like you drove it a few times?"

"Waaayyy too many. I think I could still do it with my eyes closed," I laugh, then correct myself with a smile, "but the next time I do it, I'll have a very special reason to once again, in late January?"

"You'd drive up for your work meeting? Not fly?" Margaret beams a smile at me.

"I can't really fly with my tools and bike. I want to go riding with you, and we could start on your library?"

"You really meant that? Oh, baby, I'm so excited!" Margaret pulls me in for a full-body hug, wrapping her arms and legs around me, kissing me deeply. I lift her from the counter and step into the steaming shower with her entwined on me, setting her gently on her feet as the water cascades on us and our kiss continues.

She reaches for my flaccid penis, still a long way from recovering from our last round. "I'm so happy about that. I'd give you a blow job; but this little guy doesn't seem to even recognize me right now? I think this is the smallest I've ever seen him? Maybe, I'll need to get Phil..."

Margaret trails off as her attention begins to bring new life to me, and she giggles as I grow in her hand. "Well, there he is," she laughs, and bends down to kiss my tip, licking my head and then engulfing my shaft, releasing me with an audible pop. I'm semi-erect and bob as she releases me and begins to soap up a washcloth as I do the same with her loofah.

"Tease," I mock.

"You love it," she responds.

"I do," I confirm, and we begin washing each other quickly. Then more slowly as we abandon the washcloth and loofah and slide our soapy bodies against one another, eventually pulling into a kiss under the flowing water.

"Hair," Margaret remembers and steps from under the water, pulling my hand up to squeeze shampoo into it. She turns her back to me and I follow her unstated instructions, massaging the shampoo into her scalp and tracing my short nails through her roots, lightly scratching. Lathering her locks. She is purring and pushing her lower body into mine by the time I finish thoroughly washing her hair.

I take a little lather and quickly wash my own hair as Margaret giggles, still pushing her body back to mine, seeking something more as she feels my now full erection pushing to her lower back. She reaches behind herself and gently cups my balls and strokes my shaft. I feel her starting to turn to me and lower, no doubt wanting to deliver on the blowjob she had just mentioned.

Before she can turn, I stop her. I rinse my hands under the water and pull her back to me tight, bringing one hand to her breasts, cupping her firm breast in my palm and rolling her stiffening nipples with my fingers. The other hand dives into her sex. The moisture my fingers encounter as I bury three of them in her folds is not from the shower. My lips descend to her upturned neck, kissing and biting lightly at her nape and her ear, growling low as I pull us back under the cascade of water.

My hands and mouth work quickly in unison to bring Margaret off. I catch her as her knees buckle with her release, then pull her up and turn her to me to finish rinsing the shampoo and soap from us as her breath recovers.

"So fucking good, baby, oh you fuck me so good," Margaret almost whimpers. "But I wanted to do you," she pouts.

"After dinner, baby, I promise," I say as I tilt her face to mine for a quick kiss and exit the shower.

"I'm holding you to that, Steve. It won't take me long to get ready, I promise. Can you see which one of those places across the street looks best for dinner? I don't want to drive anywhere."

"As you wish," I say and Margaret beams as I exit the bathroom wrapped in a towel to give her privacy.

I dry off and comb my hair, dressing quickly in the outfit I planned for the evening. I chuckle because the room smells of so much satisfying sex. Nothing to do about it, but I do replace the used towels on the bed with fresh ones. Our discard pile is now much higher than the one remaining towel left in reserve. Looks like Margaret might have asked for just the right number. I shake my head in disbelief at my good fortune in meeting my sexy little pixie.

It's a little after 7:30, and the football game should now be over. I decide we'll give Spurrier's Gridiron Grille a try. The coach who brought the Gators so much glory over ten years has been gone from the school for 25 years, but he wasn't even there until I was in graduate school. I'm definitely far older than I feel right now, and I smile at that thought.

I move to the outer room and mix myself a tonic and lemonade, deciding not to make one for Margaret. I know she'll just take mine anyway, and that makes me laugh out loud. I sit with my phone to catch up on the real world, while she finishes getting ready. I hear a hairdryer through the doors, so I know progress is well under way.

I scroll through my apps, closing out notifications, as I tend to do. Sophie responded to my text hours ago with some more meaningless spam. I send her a sticker or two and tell her I'll be home tomorrow afternoon.

There is no message from Beth, not that I expected one. I look at my last and note I don't "owe" her an update until I head home tomorrow, but think better of it and send a quick check-in: "Hope shopping went well. I should be back home a little after one tomorrow...I'll stop at the store first to get stuff for wings and burgers...text me with whatever else you need? Have a good night."

I make mental note of what I'll need to pick up. We plan to commandeer a grill and cabana by the pool at the apartment tomorrow to watch the Iron Bowl in the afternoon, the annual Alabama-Auburn rivalry game. It's in Tuscaloosa this year, which is why Jay and Chris are able to visit. They never miss it when it's a home game for them, never attend when it's away.

Beth's response comes more quickly than I expected as I'm catching up on a few of the New York Times' games I play to keep my mind from going too mushy, "LONG day shopping, glad it's over with...Having dinner now with everyone...Miss your stabilizing influence...Have fun and drive safe tomorrow...Thanks for the grocery run offer...Will text you list in morning."

Margaret sweeps into the room at only 7:45, shocking me a little with how quickly she got ready. She is stunning, once again. Her auburn hair falls in soft, clean waves framing her beautiful face. She has put on the barest hint of makeup.

She's wearing the boho dress from this afternoon, with her zip-up boots. But she has foregone the cardigan for my green flannel shirt. Unbuttoned and tied at her waist, sleeves rolled up, it serves the same purpose, if not with the same style. She evidently could not care less about what others may think of her fashion sense. I like it and smile at her.

Her breasts bounce without restriction as she crosses the room to me, and I have no doubt she's foregone panties again as well, and smile wickedly at the thought. She catches it as if she has read my mind, lifting her skirts to flash her gloriously bare pussy at me to confirm, and giggling as she lowers it.

"Slutty, slutty, little pixie," we both laugh as she moves to sit in my lap and steals my drink, taking a deep sip.

"And you, sir, are once again my sexy cowboy. I was hoping you'd wear your 'costume' for me again. I really do love it on you."

My 'costume' being the outfit I wore when we met a few nights ago. Jeans, boots, and a pearl snap shirt with embroidered skulls and begonias. I knew it would feel right again tonight. Margaret leans down to give me a deep kiss, holding my face in her hands and bringing it to her, running her fingers lightly in my hair, then sits back up and brings her hands to my ears, "and what's this? You're wearing a little 'jewelry' for me?

I think for a moment, recalling that I put my hearing aids in moments ago. "Nothing sexier than an old man in hearing aids," I laugh.

Margaret giggles along, "nothing less sexy than having to repeat yourself over and over to someone who won't accept that they need a little help?" She follows her gentle correction with a little kiss, then sits back up, "I like them. I brought some jewelry of my own tonight. Can you help me with this?"

She holds her hand out and drops a necklace in mine, leaning her head forward and sweeping her hair off of her neck. I find the clasp and open it, drawing the ends of the necklace together to encircle her bare throat, only struggling a little to get the clasp hooked and closed.

Margaret releases her hair and adjusts the pendant to fall between her breasts, and turns to me to show me. It's gold and very small, and looks like a little misshapen child, maybe a fairy or gnome of sorts, not a modern interpretation, but something that looks vaguely Celtic: much older and more wild and authentic. To be honest, it fits somewhere on the spectrum between cute and creepy looking.

"Another Amazon find, baby?" I ask.

"Uh, uh," Margaret blushes as she responds, "I've had this charm since I was a little girl. Momma gave it to me when I was really young. I forgot about it for a long time, and didn't wear it much over the last twenty years. David never thought it was the 'right' look for a doctor's wife."

She holds it out and I lean in closer to get a better look, as she continues, "it's a piskie, the original 'pixies' from Cornwall. It's the 'Tinkerbell' that J. M. Barrie would have thought of when he wrote 'Peter Pan,' not the over-sexualized winged version Walt Disney created to give dads a reason to sit through a kids' movie."

"It's definitely different; I think I have read that the Disney version is nothing like the original myths," I say.

Margaret smiles and nods, raising an eyebrow, "no, they aren't, and when you get a chance to read my thesis, you'll see I talk about the differences a little..."

"I'm sorry, I started it the other morning, your abstract looks very interesting, I scanned through your references and was familiar with a lot of the material you worked with, but I couldn't read the whole thing on my phone..."

Margaret stops me, laughing, "it's okay, baby, I know you want to read it, and I know you will. I'm glad you didn't, because you were supposed to be home focusing on Beth and your family, which you clearly were. So we're good."

"It's at the very top of my reading list when I get back, because I DO want to read it and talk to you about it. The topic is fascinating. The whole concept of the missing or co-opted feminine voice in fantasy resonates with me. I loved how Madeline Miller recaptured it in 'Circe'...'"

"Mmm, I can't wait for you to read it and us to discuss it, then, baby. Because I want to hear your perspective. My advisor was a woman, and most of my feedback was from women. The take from an educated male perspective would be good. I have daddy's, and he loved it, but he's daddy."

Margaret laughs, then continues, "but back to the pendant, it's pretty hideous, isn't it?"

I nod in agreement and Margaret laughs.

"Momma spent her career wrapped in fantasy, but she had a wicked sense of humor and didn't want to shelter me from the real world, so she gave me an old-school fierce-looking pixie when I was little, not a cutesy sprite like other little girls might have gotten. I had it cleaned up and got a longer chain for it after David and I got divorced. I brought it to show Daddy. I like to wear it now to make me feel happy, or when I'm already feeling really happy like now, because it makes me feel like she's with me when I need her, or want her to see me..."

"That's wonderful. I'm very glad that you're feeling happy, because I've been pretty ecstatic this week myself," we both laugh and Margaret leans down to kiss me lightly.

"Do you know why she gave me a pixie, Steve?"

"No."

"Because that's what she called me, baby. I was always her little mischievous pixie. I've always been a pixie, Steve. You just found me and helped me remember that. Thank you."

I pull Margaret in for a deep embrace. When I release her, she looks me in the eye with a mischievous glint. "I love Momma's charm, but I like adopting the slutty winged pixie demeanor a bit more now that I'm all grown up, and I'm pretty sure she would approve."

"What's not to love about it?" I ask and give Margaret's hair a gentle tug as I dart the other hand under her skirt and confirm she's 'forgotten' her panties, as I stroke her damp sex lightly, withdrawing it before she can respond.

Margaret lets out a flustered huff, "Now who's the tease? But let's go eat or I'm going to start humping you right here and now." Margaret rises and gives my hard-on a not-so-gentle squeeze through my jeans. I groan and follow her to the door.

We're both a little disappointed that Meagan is no longer on duty at the desk. "Well, I hope she's having a nice evening," I say as we make our way out the door to walk over to the shops and restaurants of Celebration Pointe, across from the hotel.

"Mmm, she's probably home jilling-off, diddling her cute little bean, thinking about you, baby," Margaret giggles.

"Seriously doubt it, my slutty pixie, not everyone has the troll fetish you seem to enjoy," I laugh.

"Their loss. They avoid the hunch, they miss out on the dragon between the legs," we both laugh and I pull Margaret in closely as she strokes my back and then we walk arm in arm to the restaurant.

It's a little after eight when we check in at the host stand of the restaurant, and they tell us we'll need to wait 15 minutes for a table. The place is still very crowded, particularly the bar, and I can already tell from the somber faces of many patrons that the Gators did not make a comeback.

The decor clearly revolves around football, it's like a museum to the game, and other games and highlights are screaming from the abundant TVs, making me recall our earlier discussion, so I check in with Margaret on her comfort level, "Are you okay with the wait, and being around all this college football crap? I'm sorry, I didn't even think about how it might make you uncomfortable. We could go somewhere else?"

"No, that's sweet, and thank you for checking. I'm fine. And the food here is supposed to be better than anywhere else close by. We can wait, do you want to get something to drink?"

"Sure, I'll get a round. What would you like? You don't have to drink tonic water if you want something stronger. Just because I don't drink doesn't mean I mind others drinking around me."

"No, I don't want any alcohol. The other night was a real outlier. I don't drink much at all, not since, you know..." Margaret looks at me shyly. I smile at her and give her a kiss on the forehead as she leans into me.

"I was drinking the other night to loosen up a little, which, in retrospect, probably wasn't my best idea in a while. Although I've been very happy with the outcome so far," Margaret beams up at me and pulls me in tighter. "A tonic water would be great!"

I squeeze my way to the bar and place my order for two plain tonic waters, letting the bartender indulge us with an added lime. As he makes the order, I have a sense that I'm being watched, which wouldn't be surprising. My cowboy shirt is a little out of place in the sea of orange and blue wearing disappointed Gator fans.

A couple of the faces looking my way from a large table across the bar seem vaguely familiar, but I can't place them and lose them as the bartender returns with our drinks and I settle the tab. I return to find Margaret still near the entrance and note she's getting a lot of admiring looks from the men in her vicinity and scowls from their female partners.

"Thank you," Margaret smiles as I hand her the drink and she takes a sip. "Not as good as Publix." We both laugh. I agree. I'm very glad I remembered my hearing aids. The din of the crowded bar and restaurant would have me struggling to keep up with conversation if I hadn't, and Margaret is right. There is nothing less sexy than hearing someone repeatedly asking "what" throughout a meal.

Margaret's phone pings with an incoming message. It's around the time her kids might be trying to reach her, so she checks it. "Unbelievable," she mutters. "But perfect timing. Baby, I think you asked me why I haven't really dated since my divorce? This is why..."

Margaret hands me her phone, and I take a look at the message. The contact is just a phone number. I recognize the area code as being Atlanta. It's a continuation of a string of messages, but I don't scroll up to look at those.

The current message is, "Hey babe, I don't know WHAT the mix-up was yesterday, but my bad. I'm back in the ATL now. HMU if you want to take that ride sometime. You seemed pretty down. We can even take my car out after ; ) I guarantee you will NOT be disappointed."

There are two photos attached. The first is a very expensive electric car, a Porsche Taycan sport wagon. I only recognize it because it was featured in a car magazine I thumbed through at my dad's the last time I visited. He's always been a Porsche guy.

The second is a very angry-looking penis, and in comparison to the hand gripping it, I would say it is very small as well. Which might explain why it is so angry-looking, I think.

"What the hell?" I ask Margaret, quickly adding, so that she knows I'm not mad at her, "he should probably get that looked at."

Margaret is beside herself with laughter. "Ooh, that's perfect. That's what I'll text him."

She takes her phone back and quickly types the reply, "Not in your lifetime. And I'm a nurse, you should get that looked at as soon as possible." She then deletes the message string and blocks the number as we both laugh. She then explains to me, "I wanted to block him yesterday, but was kind of hoping he'd try to contact me again while you were with me so I could show you what I deal with from the more piggish of your kind."

"Who was that?" I ask, very confused at this point.

"Remember the guys who were bothering Lisa at the hotel bar? That's one of them. He was 'the kid' my parents' friends brought to Thanksgiving dinner yesterday. He lives in Atlanta, and they thought they might set me up with him. He's some successful finance bro or tech bro or something-or-other bro."

"So I'm confused. Why on earth was he sending you a dick pic?"

"Why? I have no clue. But that's what the guys out there all do now, apparently. He sent the first one while we were having dinner."