I leaned back against the wall, standing on only one leg. My other one wrapped around his waist as he held me up. I’d never done anything like this in my life, and it was the hottest thing I’d ever experienced. Feeling him thrust inside me, out here in the open, the view of New York City lit up over his shoulder.
He didn’t say anything until near the very end, when he slowed down and whispered, “I want to feel you cum on me.”
I did, and he followed. He leaned up against the wall and pulled me into him, bringing my head to his chest. He was out of breath and sweating a bit. We stood there for a few minutes, not saying a word.
When he finally caught his breath, he zipped up his pants, walked back over to the nook, and poured us both another glass of wine. I took the glass from him, feeling so embarrassed, I could barely look at him. He patted the spot next to him, so I sat. He put his arm around me as we drank our wine. Then, he leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. He took a deep breath and looked me deep in the eyes.
“That’s going to be hard to get over. This whole year I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss, and now this is going to be running through my mind until next year.”
I laughed. “You’re already planning on meeting me next year?” I asked.
“Oh yeah, and the year after that.” He took my hand and placed it on his lap. “You know, I’ve never done anything like this. I truly haven’t. I’ve never even cheated on my wife before. There’s just something about you that…”
I interrupted. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m not judging you.”
His expression turned serious. “I know I don’t, but I just really want you to know that this was…it was…different. And pretty fucking incredible.”
Vincent was right, it was incredible—and so out of character for me. I sat there staring at him, wondering how or why I was so unbelievably attracted to someone I barely knew. He wasn’t even my type, I normally went for blue eyes, not brown. Jocks, not businessmen. Not to mention, he was so much older than me. We sat on the roof, talking for another hour.
“Do you believe everything happens for a reason?” he asked.
I paused for a minute. “Yes, I do.”
“The fact that Christmas Eve fell on the weekend these past two years gave us a little more time to spend together. You don’t think there’s something peculiar about that?” he asked.
It was true. The timing had certainly worked out for us. I smiled but didn’t say anything.
Then, like the year before, he had to leave. “Next year? Same time? As in six!”
I sighed. After what had just happened, it was going to be difficult for me to wait an entire year before seeing him again.
“Yes, I will be here at six, but it’s going to be pretty hard for you to top this year,” I said. He kissed me long and passionately.
“Merry Christmas, Sarah.”
About four weeks later. I’d just finished my act at the strip club when Isabel came into the dressing room.
“Bianca, there is an incredibly attractive guy asking for you by name at the bar,” she said.
“Another one?” I asked, annoyed. “Did you tell him my act is over?”
“Yes, but he was pretty insistent, said he was a friend of yours.”
Baffled, I slowly walked out to get a look from behind the entrance leading into the bar. I stepped back so fast I bumped right into Isabel.
“Oh my God, it’s him!”
“Him?” she asked. “As in the guy you were a hoochie for on the roof, HIM?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, THAT him—Vincent. Shit, what is he doing here?” I asked her as if she would possibly have an answer.
She started shaking her head. “These married guys are dangerous. Does he have luggage with him? Was he kicked out?”
“Oh God, I hope not!” We both slowly peered our heads out to get a better look.
“I don’t see luggage, do you?” I asked.
“No, looks like it might be safe to proceed,” she said. “But you do know your roof is covered with snow, right? I wouldn’t suggest going up there unless you’re planning on making snow angels.”
“I look like shit! I need to freshen up my makeup, can you go entertain him?”
“You look exactly how you did the first time he came back,” she said.
I released a sigh. I had no time to argue with her. “Please?”
“Okay, go, but hurry. I gotta go back out for the next dance!” she said.
VINCE
“You must be Vincent,” the girl who just played gatekeeper said, approaching me.
“Yes, I am. You’re the brunette from the Christmas show, right?” I asked.
She tilted her head and rolled her eyes. “Wow, very observant, nothing gets by you, huh? I’m Isabel. Bianca’s best friend. She’s getting changed. Care for a lap dance?”
I looked at her, almost speechless. “I’m sorry, what?”
She started speaking very slowly. “Would. You. Like. A. Lap. Dance?”
“Um, no thank you. Did she really tell you to come give me a lap dance?” That certainly couldn’t have been a good sign. I stared into my glass and moved the ice around.
“Not in those exact words, but she asked me to entertain you, and since I’m a stripper…you got a better idea?”
“How about a drink?”
She sat on the empty bar stool next to me. I glanced at Nicole, who seemed to be very amused by our conversation.
“I’ll have another Johnnie Walker Black, and whatever she wants,” I said.
“I’ll have the Blue,” she ordered.
I could feel her looking at me from the side of her eye for a reaction. I didn’t say anything. Nicole shifted her gaze to me for approval of the extremely high-priced drink that Isabel had ordered.
“I said whatever she wanted,” I reiterated. When the drinks arrived, I lifted my glass to hers. “Nice to meet you, Isabel.”
“Same to you,” she said as she took a sip. She pulled a face and made a choking sound, as if she’d just tasted gasoline.
“Not typically a scotch drinker?” I asked, laughing.
She tried to give me a dirty look but couldn’t help but smile. “Would you like to order another drink? One you’re more comfortable with?”
She nodded and ordered a vodka and soda.
When I finished my drink, I pulled her leftover one toward me and took a sip. “You didn’t find this to be smooth? I’ll have to send a letter of complaint to Mr. Walker.”
Isabel turned her seat around so that she faced me. Her expression turned very serious and her voice grew deeper.
“Bianca doesn’t have a father, so I’ll have to fill in… What are your intentions with my friend?”
I took another sip of my drink and looked over at her, confused. “My intentions?” I slowly repeated.
She started laughing. “Relax, I’m fucking with you. Bianca didn’t warn me you had no sense of humor.”
“You know, you would love my best friend, Jimmy,” I said.
She leaned closer to me, suddenly intrigued. “Is he as cute as you?”
“I mean, I don’t look at guys like that, but from the reaction he gets from the female gender, I’m going to say cuter.”
“Is he rich, too?” was her second question.
“He does well for himself,” I said.
“Why do you rich guys have a problem using the word ‘rich’? Does he also dance on rooftops?”
I chuckled. “I don’t know, it never came up. I can find out if you’d like.”
“Wait—is he married?” she said.
“Yes.” I nodded. “He is married.”
“Yeah, thanks anyway, but I don’t date married men,” she said. “You know why I don’t date married men?”
I studied her, resting my chin in the palm on my hand, my fingers on my mouth.
“Because we lie?” I asked through my ha
nd, expecting that to be the obvious answer she was looking for.
“No, no. Because you all go home after you’re with us and start analyzing your wives and suddenly realize exactly what it is they’re not doing for you. It’s a liability really,” she responded.
Luckily, I heard Sarah’s voice from behind me, as if she somehow knew I needed saving in that particular moment.
“I’m surprised you’re not giving him a lap dance,” she said to Isabel.
“I offered, he refused.” Isabel stood up, ready to leave.
“Did you really expect her to give me a lap dance?” I asked. Sarah started laughing.
“Oh, FYI—he has zero sense of humor,” Isabel informed Sarah as she took her drink, raised it to me as a silent thank you, and then walked away.
“Are you stalking me?” she asked as she approached the bar.
I half smiled. How did this girl make me so nervous? What was I even doing there? I had no time in my life for hobbies, let alone a girlfriend. What could I even offer her? My underarms grew wet with sweat.
“Stalking? No, no, not stalking per se, that would be creepy. I mean, I did call the club to see when your act was and I did come here knowing you were getting off at nine, but no, I wouldn’t say stalking. Would you? Is that stalking?” I knew I was rambling, but I felt like I was on some sort of emotional roller coaster, between Isabel’s interrogation and her stalking question. I had no idea what was a joke and what wasn’t, but was extremely relieved when Sarah finally smiled.
“It isn’t Christmas Eve yet,” she said.
“Yeah, about that…see, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but next week is Chinese New Year, which technically makes tomorrow Chinese Christmas and today Chinese Christmas Eve, so I thought that might be relevant information for you to know. I don’t discriminate against anyone, especially the Chinese.”
She started laughing, watching me with this shy yet captivated smile. She bit her bottom lip. I couldn't figure out if she was being flirtatious, or if she was just as nervous as I was.
“What are you drinking?” she asked.
“Johnnie Walker Black,” I said.
She ducked behind the bar and grabbed a bottle. “Tell Frank I owe him a bottle,” she said to Nicole, before glancing at me. “The roof is covered with snow. I live three blocks away, want to come for a drink?”
I nodded. “Yes, I would absolutely love to come for a drink.”
We walked over to her apartment. “How do you get off so early?” I asked her once we were at her place.
“I work the first shift on Mondays and Wednesdays because those are my days off from my Broadway job, but I still have to get sufficient sleep for the real show tomorrow. How are you out so late?” she said.
“Every third Wednesday of the month, I play poker with the boys. I figured they wouldn’t miss me too much if I didn’t show up this one time,” I said. I glanced around her apartment, taking everything in. Brought me back to the days I’d first moved to New York and lived in a similar place—except mine wasn’t as nice as hers.
Her apartment had that same classic Manhattan feel to it, though. Traditional old radiators, pipes along the walls, cracks in the ceiling and peeling paint. She did a good job of making the best of the space, though. She didn’t have a lot of furniture, but the little she did have was nice and in good shape. A fake leather couch faced a TV stand that held a decent sized TV. There were trendy artsy canvass paintings on the walls, along with framed pictures of her and her friends. Bookshelves fit into every corner, each holding a plant. The kitchen counter wrapped around in a U shape, part of the counter space doubling as a bar area for the living room. Three barstools faced the kitchen, and inside was a small table with only two chairs.
“I like your place,” I said, sitting down on one of the stools.
She poured a drink and passed it to me, leaning on the counter from the kitchen side. “Yeah, okay,” she laughed.
I looked at her, confused. “You think I’m lying?” I asked.
“No, not lying, but being nice. You live in the Upper East Side, and you like my apartment?” she asked disbelievingly.
“Yes, I do,” I said. “I didn’t always live in the Upper East Side. You should have seen my first apartment when I came to New York. Smaller than this. Wife and two kids in bed with me. Did you find a boyfriend since the last time I saw you?”
“No, I’m still single,” she said.
“Got tired of swiping right? You know, if you do it too much, it can cause carpal tunnel, it’s a serious health risk.” I winked. “It was right and not left, correct?”
“Yes, right—right. I mean correct, right.” She gave a nervous laugh.
“I still can’t understand how a girl as gorgeous as you is single,” I said.
“I guess I have high standards. I have three requirements for a boyfriend. He needs to have his own apartment, his own car, and make at least as much as I do. Not so easy to find nowadays,” she said.
“Hey, I have all that!” I smiled and raised my hand.
She giggled. “Yeah, you have more than all that. You have so much baggage you may as well be the claim at the airport”.
I started sweating again. “Is it hot in here?”
She straightened from leaning on the counter. “I’m not hot, do you want me to open a window?”
I unbuttoned my collar. “Do you mind if I take my shirt off?”
She shook her head, no. I felt her watching me as I stood up and took my button-down off and hung it neatly on the kitchen chair. I sat back down on the stool.
“You like Metallica?” she asked, noticing my t-shirt.
“I do,” I said. “Do you know who they are?”
“Don’t they play that song at Yankees games? What’s the name of it?”
“‘Enter Sandman,’ and yes, they do. You like the Yankees?” I was sort of surprised she’d know anything about baseball. I couldn’t think of one woman in my life who showed any interest in a sport, let alone knew the specific details of music played.
“Yeah, why? You didn’t take me for a Mets fan, did you?” she replied, acting as if she was insulted.
I laughed. “My company has box seats. If you ever want to go to a game with your friends, I can hook you up with tickets.”
“That’s cool! I’ve never even seen the new stadium,” she said.
“Wow, seriously? It's gorgeous. Like a museum, really.”
She just smiled and bit her bottom lip again. She drove me crazy when she did that.
“Oh, Metallica has that other song too that I like. ‘The Day That Never Comes,’” she said.
“That’s the newer stuff. I like the older albums. Kill ‘Em All, Ride the Lightning. When I was in middle school, before you were born, they weren’t mainstream. They didn’t play their songs on the radio—all underground stuff. Thrash metal was a whole new thing, like nothing anyone had ever done before,” I said. I was impressed she knew who they were. Every time she opened her mouth, I liked her even more, as I realized that we actually had similar interests beyond our uncontrollable sexual attraction.
“Aren’t they from California too? Did you ever meet them?” she asked.
I chuckled. She really was cute. “You truly have no concept of how big California is, huh?”
“No, I really don’t.” She laughed and turned red. “I told you I moved here very young. Outside of summers in the Poconos, I never really left New York.”
“They’re from the San Francisco Bay Area. I’m from Santa Monica. It’s about seven hours south of San Francisco,” I explained. There was silence for a second, like she didn’t know what to say next. “I know I said I’d wait until Christmas Eve, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Well, it’s Chinese Christmas Eve, right?”
She walked around the counter and took the glass from my hand, standing between my legs. She placed her other hand on my thigh.
&nb
sp; “Do you mind I take a sip?” I took a deep breath and stared into her eyes.
“Nope, not at all. You can take whatever you want.” I placed my hand on top of hers. She leaned in closer to me and took a sip of my drink. “So, you like Metallica and the Yankees, what else do you like?”
“I like the smell of scotch on your breath,” she told me.
I moved closer. “Do you like the taste of it, too?” I asked.
She kissed me slowly, then licked her lips. “Yes, I definitely like the taste of you.” She took my hand and pulled me up from the stool. “Come with me.”
I followed her to the bedroom. “I’ve been dying to taste you,” I said, taking off her shirt and leading her to the bed, my tongue in her mouth as she softly sucked on my lower lip. I was unzipping her jeans as she was trying to wrestle my shirt off. I pulled my lips away from hers just long enough to allow her time to lift the t-shirt over my head, and then my lips were on hers again.
“I never got to do that the last time,” I said, continuing to take off her pants.
I laid her down on the bed and immediately started pleasuring her with my tongue. She gripped my hair, grabbing it even tighter when I slid my fingers into her. I could have done that to her all night. I didn’t think I’d ever been that aroused by a woman before. The more stimulated she got, the more nervous I became that I was going to explode before I had a chance to sink inside. After she orgasmed, I climbed on top of her. She couldn’t get my pants off fast enough. I lifted her legs over my shoulders and got even harder when I saw how flexible she was. The faster I went, the harder she told me to go. At one point, I was pumping so hard while gripping the bedpost that I was seriously afraid we were going to collapse her bed.
Lying with her curled against my chest afterward, I looked around her bedroom. It was the smallest room in the house. The bed was only a full but covered nearly the entire wall, only room for one small end table on the side I assumed she slept on. There was a desk with a mirror on it that looked like she did her makeup there, and a dresser. Both pieces of furniture were different shades of brown. Despite the mismatched wood, it didn’t look bad. She decorated the room in all earth tones, so the pieces blended nicely, with similar canvas pictures on her walls as in the living room. Everything was very neatly arranged in its own spot, except for a stack of large candles in the corner that seemed completely out of place.
Wounds of Time Page 3