Fast Baller

by Lulu Pratt

  Scarlet lived in a building that was, to be honest, a surprise to me. Instead of living in some chrome and glass monstrosity of modernity, she lived in a third-floor red brick walk-up, similar to those I saw in New York. Kind of urbane, I thought.

  I parked outside, and locked the car door. It didn’t look like the safest neighborhood. I walked up the stairs, and noticed a set of buzzers on the left. “Ravenwood” was number 2B. I buzzed.

  “Hello?” said the voice I was waiting for.

  “Scarlet? It’s Harrison.”

  “Did you want to come up?”

  “No, it’s okay.” I was being cautious, even though I absolutely did want to come up.

  “Okay! I’ll be right down. Give me a minute.”

  “Sure.”

  But I didn’t have to give her any time at all. She was out the door before I had a chance to check my reflection in the car window.

  “Hey,” I heard her say. I turned and saw her. She was wearing a short black silk dress that had one strap over the right shoulder. It looked like she had already been ravished. Her hair was up in a really attractive upsweep — I wasn’t great at describing these things, but it was nice looking and off her face — and she had spaghetti-strap high-heels on. Standing at the top of the stairs, I was struck by how petite she was. She stood there, and I admired her, backlit by the lamp above the door, her hair doing that thing again. It was shining in an unearthly way like that first time I saw her at the grocery store. Her eyes danced in the half-light of the early evening, and her amazingly curvaceous body was set off to great effect in that short dress that went only to her mid-thigh. Her legs were dynamite and bare.

  I must have raised my eyebrows, because she smiled wide and began to walk down to me. As she reached the bottom step, she put her arm out, and I took her hand. It was soft and small and gripped me like a vise.

  “Your chariot awaits,” I said, and noticed she was still smiling. I helped Scarlet into the passenger seat, and closed the door, then moved to the driver’s side.

  As I sat in the seat and put on my seatbelt, adjusted the mirror, and started it up, she nodded. “Nice car,” she said. “Electric?”

  “Yeah. Cool, huh?”

  “Very. I’ve never been in a Tesla.”

  “What car do you drive?”

  “Just a Toyota,” she said. “Corolla.”

  That made sense. As we drove off, I could tell she was impressed. When we reached J. Alexander’s, the valet was equally impressed. Then, as we entered the restaurant, the maître d’ asked me my name. I gave it, and I felt that he was impressed too. He didn’t say anything, but I had a good feeling about tonight.

  And my feelings were rewarded when we got a good table by the window. Of course, I was not exactly certain their cuisine would measure up, but I was still on a positive emotional journey and nothing was going to ruin this.

  “Nice place,” she said. “The view isn’t magnificent, but it looks like the food will be good,” Scarlet said.

  She was wrong, the view was magnificent, but she couldn’t see herself. We ordered steak — I was honestly pretty surprised she was a steak gal, but pleased.

  “I never pegged you for a steak girl,” I said.

  “You mean, because I’m thin and in shape? Kind of a stereotype, isn’t it?” She was smiling. Thank God.

  “No! I just figured with the yoga and all that health stuff, you’d stay away.”

  “I stayed away from it for years, but I’m a Midwesterner, and so I like what I like. And I like steak. When I was studying in India, we couldn’t have it, of course.”

  “Okay?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, cows are sacred there.”

  “Oh yeah. I read that somewhere once.”

  “Yup. Have you ever been to Asia?” she asked.

  “I can literally tell you this — I have never been outside the borders of the United States of America. I never even went to Niagara Falls even though I lived in Detroit as a kid.”

  “You’re not missing much. The cheesy honeymoon capital of the world. Who was it that said Niagara Falls is the second greatest disappointment in a young bride’s life?”

  I laughed. “Not sure. Good one, though.”

  “No,” she added. “India was a trip. I loved almost everything about it. Of course, I could have done without the food poisoning and dysentery, but the yoga program was out of this world.”

  “You really studied yoga in India?”

  “I really did,” she said, and as she said this, she reached her hand across the table to touch me.

  Her hand enfolded itself into my hand, and something amazing started to happen. She was drinking a margarita, and obviously enjoying it. She looked at me and held the glass as though she were in a commercial and said, “You know, I had a margarita for the first time only recently and now, they are my go-to drink.”

  “Yeah, they’re pretty great,” I said. “I’m lucky there’s no game tomorrow.”

  “But there is a yoga class. Ten sharp!”

  “I know! I’ll take it easy.”

  “Oh gosh, Harrison, I didn’t mean that. I just meant it would be nice to see you at it.”

  “I swear to you I’ve been working on it, Scarlet. I did those exercises while I was away, even though I had to share a hotel room with Nick. Not a pleasant experience, let me tell you. Also, not what I am used to.”

  “I guess not. You were brought up in the lap of luxury, weren’t you?”

  “What do you mean?” I said. I guess I was a little offended.

  “I just mean that, well, your dad is pretty wealthy, isn’t he?”

  “He is, but my father and I almost never talk and it’s his money, not mine.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I have talked to him once since moving here, for example.”

  “Wow. that’s not very often.”

  “We don’t really see eye to eye.”

  “I can see.” There was a silence for a minute. I really wanted to change the subject.

  “So, that massage technique you showed me — it worked like a treat,” I said, probably sensing that we were better off talking about something else.

  “Really?”

  “No, seriously. I did it, like I said. Didn’t have the reaction I had the first time, but it seemed to help get the painful aching out of my shoulder. Made me able to focus on the game. Not that it had that much effect, of course, but it did definitely help me get my eye back on the ball.”

  “Well, I’m glad. And,” she giggled. “I was very surprised by your… reaction. Sorry, I shouldn’t tease you.”

  “I thought you said it happened all the time,” I knew that the subject had to be addressed, and I guess it was better here than in her office.

  “Oh, I said it, but it’s never happened to me. That was a first. I don’t think I would do this job if that happened every day.”

  I could feel myself reddening. I was a little offended. “Oh.”

  She looked at me with a look halfway to pity from desire. “Harrison, if I was angry or offended, you would know. It was involuntary. I don’t think this is going to be a huge surprise to you, but I enjoyed it. Really.”

  “You enjoyed it?”

  “Well, sort of. Yeah.” She sipped her second margarita as I nursed my beer. “I mean, it’s not like you don’t have quite the endowment. Nothing to be ashamed about there.”

  “I’m not complaining about my endowment, I’m just embarrassed I couldn’t control it.” This was getting a bit too much for me. Having Scarlet talk about the size of my dick was both empowering and embarrassing. I just didn’t know what to do next.

  “Well, I wouldn’t mind seeing it again. Oh! Will you excuse me?”

  “Of course.”

  She rose, a little unsteadily, and I realized she’d had one too many. Not sure she realized it yet, though. She giggled and went off to the washrooms.

  I sat there and realized that we had crossed a line already and that I need
ed us to go somewhere private.

  Scarlet returned and said to me, “Want to get out of here?”

  I threw about three hundred dollars on the table, grabbed Scarlet by the hand and pulled her physically out of the restaurant.

  We hadn’t even ordered our desserts yet.

  Chapter 23

  SCARLET

  THIS DINNER date had turned into an absolutely incredible evening. Maybe it was the steak, but maybe it was the magnetic attraction we had for one another that made this a life-changing experience.

  In his car, Harrison tried to make small talk, awkwardly.

  “So, that was quite the conversation,” he said.

  To be honest, I had acted pretty out of character, and it had really confused me. I didn’t understand what was going on, and found my head swimming in a sea of margarita-filled bewilderment, but I was loving every moment of it. It felt like a first date with the promise of a perfect relationship. The promise of forever, but at the same time I knew we had to be discreet.

  “Yes.” I looked at him. “Where are we going?”

  “Your choice. Would you like to go to a club? Maybe to my place? Your place? I am really open.”

  “I need to sober up,” I said. “Would it be okay if we went to my place?”

  “Of course!” he said. “That sounds great.”

  We drove the rest of the way in silence. At a point several minutes later, Harrison put his hand beside me, and I placed my hand on his. The feeling of goodwill filled me as I looked at him driving, admiring his beautiful face and strong jawline. This guy was really handsome, and his self-confidence was only adding to that attractiveness.

  “You are really handsome, you know,” I said, with a sense that I was slightly slurring my words. It was frustrating, because I was trying to have a serious conversation and my own weakness was limiting that possibility.

  “Thanks.” We arrived at my apartment and my drunk mind was not thinking about the consequences of inviting him up. Instead, I just wanted to finish what we had started. “Up we go!” I said.

  In my apartment, we sat on the couch, and I tried to make him comfortable, at the same time trying not to jump him. He was much soberer than I was, being the designated driver, and so I supposed he was behaving himself.

  “Would you like something to drink?” I suggested.

  “God no!” he replied. I laughed. No. I guess that was a bad idea. I got myself a large glass of water, hoping to dilute the haze in my head.

  I decided to make my move. He had driven us here and come up. It was time for me to take charge.

  I turned, leaned in, and kissed him. He hesitated for a second, but before I could pull back, afraid to have crossed the line, Harrison placed his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me closer. His lips parted, so I plunged my tongue into his mouth. I could taste the beer he’d had earlier. He leaned back but kept his hand on my neck, so I leaned into him and felt my breasts touch his suit.

  I shifted my body so that I was able to move my hand along his leg closest to me. I stopped just before reaching his cock.

  Harrison pulled back for a moment and looked at me. He glided a finger along my jawline to my chin. His thumb gently rubbed my lips. I opened my lips and stuck out the tip of my tongue. His thumb had that metallic taste that flesh sometimes has.

  I then unbuckled his belt. Harrison lifted his hips and pushed down his clothing.

  His cock was already hard. I gingerly ran my finger along the side of it, and Harrison threw his head back with pleasure. I wrapped my hand around it and began moving my fist up and down his shaft.

  Harrison began kissing me again and moaned against my lips as I adjusted my grip and my speed. I could tell that I was doing a good job as he grabbed my wrist and said, “I don’t want to get ahead of you.”

  His hand started moving up my dress, along the slit. He reached up my dress and began rubbing me through my underwear. I lifted my body and pulled down my panties. His hand went back between my legs, and I could feel how wet I was.

  I swung my leg over him so that I was facing him.

  “Do you have a condom?” Harrison asked. His voice was thick with lust.

  “Yes, I do. Let me grab it,” I said. Although I was disappointed to break the spell, the last thing I wanted was an unplanned pregnancy.

  I ran to the bedroom and grabbed a condom from my bedroom. I almost checked the expiration date on the wrapper, but knew that I had bought them only a few months ago.

  Harrison had taken off his pants and unbuttoned his shirt by the time I had returned. I tossed the wrapper on his lap and watched him roll the condom along his cock as I lowered the strap on my shoulder to expose my breasts.

  I resumed my position facing him on his lap. He bent down and took one of my nipples into his mouth and sucked hard on it. I groaned with pleasure.

  I pulled back, took his cock with one hand and rested the other on his shoulder. I lowered myself slowly, feeling his cock expand my tight center. I moved up and down slowly as he was so big.

  The feeling of his cock was incredible. I wondered if Harrison was the missing jigsaw piece in my life. As he moved back and forth, I gasped with pleasure.

  Harrison placed his hands under my breast and rubbed his thumbs against my nipples as I bounced up and down on his cock.

  “God, this feels incredible,” he murmured.

  He pulled me to him and changed his speed. His hand slipped down between us and he began stroking my clit.

  “Come for me,” Harrison ordered.

  I was already close, and as he gently bit down on my nipple, I could feel my center tighten and pulse on his cock. The waves shook me, and I stopped breathing for a couple of seconds, just focusing on the pleasure of the orgasm.

  Harrison lifted his head to look at me.

  “My turn,” he said as he leaned back and started bucking into me with determination. I suddenly felt a second orgasm building, something I had never experienced before in the same night.

  Harrison wove his hands into my hair, holding me still, as he pumped into me.

  “Are you coming again?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I whimpered.

  “Come with me.”

  His hand once again went between my legs, and, perhaps as he had already figured out what made me come, I was already there.

  I threw my head back and moaned as I felt him orgasm inside me.

  We sat there for a few minutes on my couch, the waves of pleasure lessening.

  Then the phone rang. Here’s the thing. I’m old fashioned. I still had a landline, which was entirely there because my mother could not remember my cell number. In any case, it rang, and I didn’t want to get it, knowing it was my mother. And, if I were soberer, I would have remembered that I also have one of those old-school answering machines that you can hear through the whole apartment. So, it rang four times and then went to the machine. This was what we heard:

  “Hi dear, it’s your mother. I was just checking in to make sure you didn’t get ravaged by that sexy baseball player of yours tonight. Do let me know how it went, won’t you? Love you, bye.”

  I looked at Harrison as this message echoed through the room.

  “Hm. Interesting. Your mother?”

  “Yeah. I guess I probably should have gotten that and not let you hear it.”

  “It’s okay. I haven’t been called ‘that sexy baseball player’ too many times,” he said.

  I was almost about to tell him that he had so, that there was an entire front office filled with women who thought of him that way, as well as several gay guys. But I held my tongue.

  “Do you talk to your mom a lot?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Don’t you?”

  “No. Never. I don’t even know how to reach her, even if I wanted to catch her up on the last three decades.”

  “Really? Wow. I gotta say, I’m surprised. I mean, I talk to my mother pretty much every day.”

  “Really? So, you are close?”

&
nbsp; “Very. I mean, she is a little loopy, but I love her and I try my best to support her.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “She’s a sweet little old lady. Well, to be honest, she’s in her fifties, but that’s the best way I can describe her.”

  “What’s she do for a living?”

  “Oh, she’s retired now. But she was a caregiver. When she was young, when I was a kid, she worked for people who needed her to look after their kids, and as she grew older, she started looking after older people. She is really nurturing.”

  “She looked after kids?”

  “Yeah. In fact, she looked after you, I think. Back in the late eighties.”

  He stopped short, and a weird look came over his face.

  “So, uh, her name really is Betty Ravenwood?”

  “Yeah. That’s my mother.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” He removed his hand from me. This was potentially very awkward.

  “Nothing, I guess. It’s fine.”

  “It’s obviously not fine,” I said. “Something is bothering you.”

  “Well, sure. I mean… Okay, how much do you know about my dad’s relationship with your mom?”

  “Relationship? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you know…”

  “No, Harrison, I don’t know,” I said.

  “Look, Scarlet, I don’t know how much you know. I don’t even know how much your mother knows, to be honest. But I can tell you this — I was told that my mother left because she thought Betty Ravenwood, your mom, and my dad were having an affair.”

  There was a silence that descended on the room. I listened to the sound of the cars driving down the street and the fridge turn on to cooling mode. He took a deep breath.

  “Your mom was from Eastern Europe, right?” I said.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t remember her very well. She left when I was three and never came back.”

  “She left? Where?”

  “The Ukraine, I guess. I have no real idea, and it might even be wrong. I have never seen or heard from her again. And my dad never brings it up because he blames it on me.”