Ford Escort

6 - Control

Sleep did not come easily that night, even the soothing sound of rain against the window couldn't calm my thoughts. My conversation with Ava had made me second-guess my decision to put Mr. Ford out of my head. I tried to imagine, realistically, what the "friendship" he had offered might look like.

My original interpretation had been a sickening image of him pinching my ass as I walked past, or feeling me up whenever we were alone. I hadn't let my imagination run too wild, but I'd definitely concluded some form of sexual favors would be part of the arrangement as well.

The thought of him paying me for the right to more or less sexually harass me on a daily basis was not something I had even briefly considered agreeing to. Now, after talking things through with Ava, I couldn't help but visualize an entirely different scenario.

I imagined taking his dogs for a walk and returning, out of breath and sweaty, to his study. He was alone at his desk, his eyes drawn to me as soon as I stepped inside. I closed the door behind me and locked it, confidently holding his gaze as I removed my t-shirt. Underneath I was wearing a black lace brazier (not that I currently owned such a thing) his eyes unable to resist staring at my scantly clad breasts.

I approached his desk, slowly, teasing him by pulling one of my bra straps down my shoulder. His eyes followed me, hungrily hanging on my every move as I came to a stop in front of him. He didn't reach out to touch me, though he clearly was longing to, I was in control.

I stepped forward, climbing up to straddle his lap, pressing myself up against him as he let out an impatient moan. Still, he waited. I reached up to run my fingers through his dark hair, messing the perfect waves and leaning down to press my lips to his.

Alright, no.

That was a whole other spectrum of unrealistic. I was immediately embarrassed for feeling almost... excited, letting my mind get so out of hand. He was old enough to be my father. On the other hand, he was undeniably handsome, and his voice was deep and melodic. There was no denying I found him attractive, but I had done the math - 31 years. He was a 31-year-old man when I was born, the thought made me more than a little uncomfortable.

By 3 in the morning, I hadn't gotten a wink of sleep and I still had no idea what I wanted to do. The idea of refusing what Ava had more or less described as the solution to all my problems wasn't something I could commit to, but neither was agreeing to a contractual sexual relationship with a much, much older man.

Another of Ava's points entered my mind: I could discuss the terms with him and walk away if it made me uncomfortable. However, the idea of reaching back out to him, opening up a dialogue about what he wanted from me, only to potentially back out all over again... it was enough to give me a stress headache.

"Come on." I whispered to myself, all but fed up with my own flakiness, "Just decide what you're going to do and do it."

I hesitated for another second, the reasonable, responsible part of my brain firmly telling me to forget the whole thing. I latched onto the decision with a nod, made peace with it, and rolled over onto my side. Having settled my internal battle, I closed my eyes and willed sleep to come.

Minutes later I realized it wasn't going to happen. My fingers were tapping anxiously against my mattress, my thoughts somehow finding their way back to Mr. Ford. I shook my head, pushing the thoughts out of my mind as quickly as they came. I had made my choice.

Seconds later I was envisioning myself leaving Maine in just one month. Having the money to go home, get my own place, maybe even a car. Or I could stay for two months, and save up enough to take a trip before going home. I'd always wanted to go to Europe.