The world’s next beloved sexy erotic masterpiece — part 2
What are you doing, Norma? You’ve only known this Johnny Maverick for twelve minutes and you’re already going to dinner with him?!
I nervously clean my glasses whilst anxiously chewing the end of my spare pair of glasses. After Johnny and I shared a KitKat in his office, I was so overwhelmed with confusing tingly feelings that I hastily jumped out of the window. As I hurtled through the air to my certain doom, my phone beeped with a text I instantly knew would change my life forever: How about an After Eight next time? JM
And now I’m in the private helicopter he ordered to pick me up from where I lay sprawled on the ground outside his building, being whisked away to some fancy restaurant.
I blush suddenly, unease seeping into me, innately sure I’ve got this all wrong. None of this makes sense. I’m a journalist, who came over to interview Johnny Maverick. That was all. And now I’ve found myself in his private helicopter. His private helicopter.
No. Something here isn’t right.
Why didn’t he send his private jet?
I wipe away a tear, realising the truth. Clearly he reserves his private jet for the accomplished, talented journalists he really respects, and I’m just a pathetic normal boring ordinary mundane run-of-the-mill helicopter girl.
I should’ve known. I’m always the helicopter girl.
By the time I arrive at the restaurant, I’ve decided not to let it get to me. So Johnny Maverick only thinks I’m worthy of a helicopter — so what?! If the situations were reversed, I probably wouldn’t let him onto my father’s private plane. Hell, I’d probably make him use my father’s private yacht!
My confidence soars, and I chuckle at the thought of relegating poor pathetic Johnny to mere yacht status. I stride into the restaurant, chin up, hair flowing, and adorably crash into a chair.
“Argh!” I cry, all of a sudden inexplicably lying spread-eagled on the floor, frantically panting and moaning, my skirt somehow bunched at my waist.
“Well…” I hear softly, meticulously, from somewhere behind me. “Isn’t that a nice view…?”
Trembling, I slowly drag myself to my feet, catch my breath, and turn around. And there he is: the inimitable Johnny Maverick, looking at a portrait of himself astride a leopard on the back wall.
“Oh!” he starts suddenly, spotting me. “You’re here already. Hey.”
I growl, then cough and splutter. “Sorry,” I gasp. “Dry throat. I think it’s from the…” I frown at him pointedly, “helicopter.”
“Ah, oh, that…” he stutters, visibly embarrassed. He pulls at the collar of his lavender-coloured leopard-print shirt. “Norma, I’m so sorry about that. You see, my private plane…”
I fold my arms, awaiting a decent explanation, although I know there can’t possibly be one.
“Well, you see, I couldn’t send you my private plane. I wanted to, but I just couldn’t.”
Here we go. He’s going to tell me what a subpar journalist I am and how I’m not worthy of the special private jet. Well, that’s fine by me, Johnny. I thought your KitKat was too flaky anyway.
“Because my private plane crashed two hours ago. The impact brutally killed everyone onboard, including every last member of my dear sweet family, in a merciless inferno.”
“Oh!” My hands go to my mouth. “Oh, Johnny!”
“Yes, Norma,” he says. “My brother and sisters, my parents, my aunts, my cousins, my happy cat… their remains were found entangled in the burning wreckage of my private plane.”
I shake my head. “Oh, Johnny… I’m so relieved!”
Now I know Johnny didn’t deny me his private jet on purpose, I can let down my ice queen veneer.
The dinner goes by in a haze of delicious food and wine. We talk about our childhoods, our jobs, our favourite confectionery. I tactfully decide not to ask about Johnny’s family as he no longer has one. I compliment his restaurant choice, as it’s truly the largest, most opulent restaurant I’ve ever been in, and he tells me it’s actually a small country called “Belgium”.
“I had the entire place evacuated,” he whispers. “I like the privacy. More… intimate.”
I feel a shiver down my spine, then chide myself for being so easily moved. I am a professional, after all.
“MR MAVERICK,” I begin, making sure to shriek and thus assert myself as a highly qualified individual. “I CANNOT HELP BUT WONDER EXACTLY WHY YOU’VE INVITED ME HERE?”
“Hmm,” he says, an eyebrow raised. “You’re very direct. Very to-the-point. No beating around the bush. Barely given me any chance to relax.” He takes a sip of his seventeenth glass of wine. “I like that in a woman.”
“WELL THEN?”
His eyes lock onto mine, and I find I can barely breathe.
“Norma Lee,” he murmurs, “you’re the most surprising woman I’ve ever met. Ever since I first saw you, a few hours ago, you’ve taken over my life. That KitKat we shared, well… it was the most incredible KitKat I’ve ever had. And admit it, Norma…” His unwavering gaze is almost scary. Almost. It isn’t, though — it’s just charming. “Admit it was the best you’ve ever had, too.”
I’m very aware of my own heartbeat, and the flush in my face. It’s as though there’s no one else in all of Belgiu– oh right yeah.
“I…” I croak.
“So what do you say, Norma?…” He brushes the edge of my fingertips softly, the slightest hint of a smirk creeping into his face. I realise that I have been utterly seduced — and so subtly, so gradually, so carefully, I barely knew it was happening.
“…Wanna have sex now then?” he finishes.
“Huh?” I whisper breathily.
“My place is — well it’s across the ocean, but it’s empty here, we can do it here. How about that corner over there?”
“What do you mean?” I furrow my brow.
“Oh, sorry,” he hastens. “Sorry, we can do it lying down if you’d prefer. That’s why I carry a leopard-skin rug around at all times.”
“Do… what… lying down?”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Oh, Norma, you wanna dirty talk?”
“What?” This might be the most baffling man I’ve ever met! What is this strange obscure gibberish he’s spouting? “Look, you lost me at… what was it… ‘sex’?”
His other eyebrow darts up to meet his first. “Yes, Norma. Sex. Intercourse. Copulation. Lovemaking. Sleeping together. Penetration. Intimate relations. Doing it. Getting laid. Getting it on. Getting down and dirty. Making babies. Rogering. Humping. Screwing. Shagging. Bumping uglies. Slap and tickle. Dipping the pen in the ink. Hiding the bishop. Hiding the salami. Putting the sausage in the bun. Stuffing the turkey. Stuffing the taco. Dropping a banana in the well. Letting the cock crow. Rowing the pink canoe. Posting a letter. Rutting. Hitting skins. Swapping fluids. A bit of the old in-out, in-out. Snu-snu. Showing Aladdin the cave of wonders. Giving Jafar’s staff to Jasmine. Asking the Sultan to…”
Four hours later and I’m still unsure what it is Johnny wants from me.
“…and then not telling Mufasa about it.” Johnny scratches his head. “You know, Norma. Fucking.”
I shake my head dimly. “I… I think my father has a pink canoe?”
Johnny’s eyes widen, before an apparent recognition dawns on his face. “Oh, Norma… You haven’t had sex, have you?”
I look over at the restaurant menu. “I’m pretty full, but I probably have room for one more thing — I can try it?”
He shakes his head affectionately. “Oh, you innocent thing. Now I know you’re completely and totally clueless, it makes me want you even more!”
I giggle, warmed by his kind charms.
He holds out a hand enticingly.
“Come with me, you pathetic ignorant woman,” he croons. “I have so much to teach you.”
