The door closed behind Elena going to her house and Gezza became limited to the smell of jasmine and chlorine on her skin.
The living room was a mist of low light candles on a glass coffee table, and the shadows were dancing across her curves like a private performance.
Her towel, which was barely clinging to her, slumped one inch in turning, and her dark eyes, as she turned, fastened him like a predator gauging the size of a particular fool on his snack.
The beat of Gezza's heart caused a pounding in his chest and his coarse hoodie was like a straitjacket.
It was Elena Martinez, the goddess of yoga whom he had been watching and now gazing upon him as though he were a film star.
You are not the same as you was to-night, Gezza," she purred, moving up.
Her voice was wet velvet, low and deep with something that rendered his knees weak.
"Like you at last got it together. So confident."
His eyes twinkled and his mouth was as parched as the desert. Confident? Him?
The man who had fallen over his own boxers the previous week and wept into a bag of nacho chips?
"Oh, y-yeah, just, y-yeah, vibin," he said, cringing at the lameness of the sound of his voice.
But her smile broadened, and he received it--her eyes did not see him.
Not the actual Gezza, his greasy hair and his pit-stained hoodie. The woman saw a lover... elsewhere. Someone else. The Playbook.
Those weird pages in that book he had scrawled her name in with its warm pages and glowing ink flashing in his mind.
Magic of illusion, he reasoned, brain scrabbling to be part. It had to be. She was gazing at him as he was a sculpted Chad, not a basement-dweller perv.
Elena bridged the distance, and her body so near that he felt the heat of her.
His thoughts were short circuited as he felt her breasts, barely wrapped with the towel, pressing on his chest and being quite soft and heavy with a jolt that sent a shock up to his brain.
His skin touched the cloth of her towel, cold and moist and reeking slightly of her coconut shampoo.
"You like what you see?" She teased, following her fingers where her arm touched his, with goosefuzzies.
Her handwork was electric, assertive and unlike the women who had flown ghosts in his DMs.
"Y-yeah, he said", his voice cracking like a teenager.
The scream in his mind was yelling: This is it! The fantasy! She's into me!
He had spent nights worshipping her, tacked her picture to his spank bank in the mind, and was dreaming of this very moment.
But now? He was as frozen as a deer in headlights, and his body didn't refute his bravado.
He thought that he was shaking like a leaf, but she liked his confidence, she said.
The book was reworking her image and making his clumsy ass, her dream man.
Her hand glided down a bit, rubbing against his hip, and--oh, fuck--against the front of his sweatpants.
The breath of Gezza came in with a jerk and the fingers gripped him through the cloth and gave him a caressing touch with a slow, methodical beat, causing his eyes to be drawn back.
It was a feeling so intense, such as of fire and velvet simultaneously, her hand so solid and yet so caressing.
"First time, huh?" she said, her lips close to his ear, the hot breath of her mouth hot and minty. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you."
He wished to say that no, so that he could be cool about that but his body was screaming the truth.
"Uh, m-may-be", he said, flushed. She giggled, a predatory, sweet sound, and pulled down his pants.
His cock shot out of him, and the brain of Gezza shut down.
He was not able to move or even think, but to stand there as she went down on her knees, her towel falling onto the floor.
Her appearance, nude as she was, wet of her shower, her dark hair floating down her back, was an even greater attraction than any poster on his wall.
His fantasies had failed to give justice to her.
The lips of Elena were touching his, warm and soft, and Gezza almost lost his knees.
The first mouth touched made him feel the shockwave, wet and slick, her mouth moving with the skill which made him see not.
The room turned around--candlelight flickering, the buzz of her air conditioner creeping away into a dull roar.
Too much, too good, but still... he survived.
Longer than he had ever been in his solitary sessions, as though the Playbook were inflating him with some savage energy.
His hands got her hair, fingers corkscrewing through the wet strands and he groaned, a guttural and low groan he did not know he could produce.
The book was not only making her want him--it was making him more.
Then she drew back, wiping her lips with a glowing tongue, and an evil typoid smirk on her lips.
"Not bad ", she teased, her voice low and throaty, as though she were enjoying a secret.
"Bet you have been holding this side of you, huh, Gezza?" Her eyes glowed with the devilishness, yet there was another glance, as though she was gazing at a different person.
The fantasy of the Playbook creating his sweaty stammering ass into her fantasy stud.
"Uh, yes, I was just, y'know, saving it to you", he said, cracking his voice.
He shuddered within--you smooth fool--but Elena laughed, and stood up, and pulled him to the couch.
The leather squeaked under her and she pushed him down, leaving her on his lap.
She was hot, her skin sticky with moisture after a shower and the odor of jasmine blended with her sweat smacked him like a drug.
She pressed His chest against her breasts, which were very tender and big, the towel having long since been forgotten, and her curves were left bare to the candlelight.
She was a fantasy, an inch in every part, than any poster on his wall.
So huge, so huge, she mumbled and her hand was sliding along his chest, and her nails were scraping against his flesh, which was in agony.
Her hands touched him once more, moving with a slow, caressing beat which seemed to cause his breath to catch. "Bet this feels good, doesn't it?" She bent over, her lips touching his ear, and she breathed hot and minty. "Tell me you want me, Gezza."
"Fuck, Elena, I--I want you", he gasped, his hands floundering on her hips, clinging to the warm flesh like a lifeboat.
His head was a chaos of half adoring her and half sickening under the influence of the book.
She was too ideal, too enthusiastic, like she was written to him.
The magic of the Playbook was actual and she found herself desiring him in a manner that was too good to doubt.
She led him in her, and Gezza had the world of his world open on his senses.
Her walls seised him, both hot and greasy, and every motion was a shock to his nerves.
"Goddamn, you are tight", he burred out, and he immediately regretted it, but Elena laughs, and as she did it was a sultry laugh that tinged through her heart.
"And you're big", she sneezed back, her hips grinding together slowly and teasingly.
"Keep up, big guy." Her language was flirtatious, and her eyes blazed with that unnatural hunger, the illusion of the book causing her to believe that she saw a god sitting where there was a loser.
Gezza, with a first effort, fumbled, but the magic of the Playbook appeared to work through him, and he moved with confidence, which was not his own.
Every stroke was a rhythm, electric, his length grinding her walls in a beat which caused her to moan, sharp and deep.
The couch graaned beneath them as the leather clung to his thighs, and the air was full of moist smacks of their bodies, and the slight pop of candles.
Her nails sank in his shoulders and crescent marks were left and her breath made gasps, burning his neck. Faster, she said and her voice was a command and a plea. "Show me what you've got."
The book caused him to obey, and his thrusts, with the unnatural persistence, were getting shallower and deeper, to his distraction, causing her successive shrieks.
She was gripping him round, a throb that kept pace with his wildened heart, and he was a king, a filthy little king crowned with magic. "You like that, huh?" he attempted, with the intention of being cocky and coming out desperate.
Elena moaned, and her head tipped backward, the hair falling like ink all the way down her back. "Oh, Gezza", she purred, feeling her hips against his with such force that he became faint.
The sensation grew like a tidal wave of pleasure and all her nerves cried to her body tightening around him.
Her shrieks got louder, her nails were shredding on his back and Gezza groaned with her, rough and uncouth.
The strength of the Playbook operated through him, and caused him to continue beyond his own belief, every stroke a witness of its wonderfulness.
They climaxed together, in a white-hot burst that made Gezza gasp, and her body shook, as Elena fell up against him, her breath a ragged gasp, her skin shining with sweat.
The room was silent in the next moment, the only thing that could be heard was the hum of the AC and the distant chirping of crickets outside.
His heart beat was throbbing, and Gezza felt his head swirling.
He'd done it. He had slept with Elena Martinez, who was the untouchable neighbor.
The Playbook was actual - supernatural, unattainable, yet genuine. Her warmth is still touching him, her lips rubbing his neck, and there was a time when he was the stud she perceived, and not the slob he was.
But as she huddled close a shiver passed through him. Not pleasure--something else. An uneasy sensation, such as the post-energy drink feeling.
Hearing the words of the book in his head the Playbook gives and the Playbook takes. What had it taken just now? He forced the thought aside and was bathed in her light, yet the shadow remained.
A door banged open outside, and feet trudged towards the house. The voice of a man called out, bitter and angry: Elena? You home?"