“Is your trip business or pleasure ma’am?” he asked with a serious look on his face and a stern voice. I was not sure what to reply, it was not business really, but it wasn’t pleasure either.
“I guess pleasure,” I replied nonchalantly. Then I pass the officer a copy of my birth certificate to show him I was an American citizen.
“If you’re an American, you should be flying with an American passport,” he explained sternly. Shit, why did I show him that? Stupid.
“Well, I just found out I was an American,” I replied, rolling my eyes at the officer and then I immediately regretted my rude reaction.
“Alright ma’am, go ahead,” he replied curtly, stamping my passport and motioning me to move on. Clearly he wasn’t interested in my shit either.
Exiting through the sliding doors I was met with a faint breeze. Taxis drove by swiftly and everyone looked tense and rushed. I started to think that there was no place like home, but then I remembered that I don’t have a home anymore, I don’t even have a Toto. I quickly found a bus to Queens and fell back in an empty seat, placing my duffle bag on the floor beside me. It was a long drive giving me more time to think. That was maybe one of the worst parts of loneliness, all the time you had to think and mull things over. It made my situation that much worse and pushed me into the endless cycle I’d been in for the last two years.
That night my plan was to settle into the motel, and take a subway into Manhattan the next day to see if there was any real purpose to my trip, or if I was chasing a dream that would never pan out. I was so worked up that my patience was wearing down and I wanted to go to the Upper West Side now and find out, but dressed the way I was, in a pair of ripped blue jeans and a tight black top I figured, I should look a little classier for the meeting.
The bus finally arrived in Queens. Before I stepped off the bus I asked the driver if he’d heard of my motel, and he directed me two blocks down the road. When I entered the motel I was disappointedly taken aback. Yeah, it said it was two stars on the Internet, but this place looked like grunge city. My family home was nothing special, but it was always clean.
I got the key from the front desk and headed up a flight of steps to my room, which was a bitch since the heavy duffle bag weighed me down. The damn place didn’t even have an elevator. At the top of the stairs was a long hallway. As I carried the duffle bag behind me, the smell of mold and something really old that I couldn’t identify wafted up my nose causing my stomach to roll. I made it to room 212 and used my key to open the door. I didn’t even realize that motels still used keys. Any trips I took with my parents involved a hotel with a room card to slide through a door. I swung the door open and grabbed my duffle, hauling it inside and huffing from the exertion. There was a double bed in the middle of the room with an olive green blanket on top. The carpet was mustard yellow but it may just have been dirty. At least there was a window I told myself, trying to look at the glass as half full. Who was I kidding? The window was facing a brick wall and a flashing sign that shined brightly into the room. This place was a shit hole. Peeking into the bathroom, it looked just as bad. The toilet was a yellowy orange and the shower had the same tinge to it.
Maybe I should have never come; maybe this was a sign that it was a big mistake. I fell back onto the bed and cried my eyes out, I hadn’t cried for so long and I deserved to now. My heaves turned into whimpers, and then feeling spent I ceased to cry, a part of me felt vindicated and a part of me felt like my tears were pointless. Once I shed my last tear, I shoved off the bed and put on a pair of flip-flops. I needed a shower and there was no way I was going to walk into the cesspool of grossness barefoot. I showered as quickly as I could lathering the soap at a frantic pace so I could get out fast, at least there was hot water. Then I stepped out and put on my sexy lingerie and a slinky red dress that barely covered my behind.
I checked my phone… I should be receiving an email any minute about the next private get together. For the past two and a half years I’d made my way into Toronto to hit the sex clubs, since we didn’t have those kinds of clubs in Thunder Bay. After the night I was attacked, I went into a deep depression and I stopped going completely. Things at home spiraled into a black hole of oblivion, and I was drowning inside while no one knew or was there to help. Not my brother Joe, not my drunk father, no one. It was hard to describe those days now that I look back, but it was like I was living inside a bubble where reality didn’t feel real.
Then one day, maybe a month later, Nessa came pounding on my front door like a bat out of hell and shoved her face in mine and made me talk about it. She made me say how that night made me feel, she made me face my grim reality. She also revealed that she had been raped before. After the two of us bawled our eyes out, she forced my ass out for a night on the town in Thunder Bay. I was by no means cured. I knew I would carry the hurt that the nameless stranger caused me around in my heart forever, but I came back to the land of the living in a sense. I couldn’t see myself in a monogamous relationship, I couldn’t see myself doing much. The truth is, the sex clubs were packed with people and had security. They were safe and they made me feel all kinds of good, and I wanted those moments even more now than before.
The scene in Canada was different than New York. Back in Canada there were legal clubs where people walked around as they wished and fucked who they wanted. The places were monitored but only to a certain extent. There was no need for blood tests or criminal checks at the door. Maybe that is how I got myself into that much trouble years ago. Nessa looked into it when I told her my plans to come to New York, and she contacted a guy from Toronto who had a friend here in New York City. Apparently the scene here was underground. There were no legal sex clubs in the city, which sounded more promising because they were selective of their guest list and required a clean blood test for admission. I had gone for a blood test and sent them a picture of myself while I was still in Thunder Bay. I got the green light that I was put on the exclusive list of guests. Knowing that things were so closely looked after gave me the confidence to go by myself tonight. Since the night of my rape I haven’t left Nessa at a party, which in some ways can get awkward when we find ourselves getting off in near proximity to each other.
I slicked on some bright red lipstick and straightened my black shoulder length hair with a dryer. I brushed some black mascara along my lashes, making them fuller than they already were, and finally slipped on my red stiletto heels making a perfect touch to my sexy ensemble. Did I look like I walked the streets selling my body? Maybe. My outfit was a head turner, the only thing that gave me slight unease was whose heads I’d be turning on this end of town. I could get mugged and killed. As the thought entered my mind I shrugged it off, thinking that wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I would be put out of my misery. I threw on my black overcoat and my phone beeped showing a message. I looked down to see an email from the anonymous sender about the party location. I grabbed my purse, hid my cash under the mattress and headed out the door into the brisk fall night.
***
The email said Park Avenue. I gave the cabbie the address and I was on my way. New York was busy compared to the small town I grew up in. With so many people walking the streets and so many bright lights it made me dizzy. I noticed the change of scenery on the drive from Queens into Manhattan. Finally, the cabbie stopped in front of a posh building with a doorman standing at the entrance. I was a little out of my league, but I exited the cab, squaring my shoulders, and inhaling a deep breath. I made my way to the door and smiled at the young handsome doorman giving him my password. The doorman smiled and nodded, escorting me to the elevator. I could practically feel him undressing me with his eyes, and a part of me enjoyed the attention. The elevator rose up to the penthouse. Whoever it was throwing this party must be swimming in it. A sudden wave of nerves washed over me and my insides began to tremble. I didn’t want to go in on my own, back home I had Nessa. I tried to convince her to come on this trip with me, but something held her back and it was
something she didn’t want to discuss. I knew about secrets. I knew what it was like to hold them inside you. I couldn’t push her. Now I was here by myself about to enter a party. I couldn’t turn back, what I needed was so close I couldn’t walk away. It was the only way to get myself to feel, to interact with people, to get out from inside my head.
The vibrant world of sex parties saved me. People weren’t judged because of their preferences and the environment was welcoming. As I grasped the handle, the front door opened and I held my breath, wondering what awaited on the other side. I walked inside directly into an extravagant living space, lavish and grand. The penthouse was huge with a winding staircase to the second floor. The furniture looked imported, with gold accents on everything from the tables and chairs to the door handles. The carpets were exotic and the lighting was exquisite with large crystal chandeliers that were dimmed and set off a shimmer into the dark room. So this was how the other half lived. I never knew, most families where I came from were working class and made just enough to get by. There was no money for fancy jewelry and new cars, and yet most were content with what they had, my family had been content at one time too, before everything fell apart.
I sauntered over to the coat check and slipped off my coat, feeling a little self-conscious. I knew I shouldn’t feel this way, I never had before, but this was new in a different way. Maybe they played by different rules.
As I gauged my surroundings, I noticed that the penthouse was filled with people but it wasn’t overly packed. My connection in Toronto said, ‘Everyone had to try a New York party once in their life,’ but it was more than I expected. Waitresses walked around in black lace bras and matching black lace thongs, handing out hors d’oeuvres and champagne, while an addictive beat thumped in the background.
These parties weren’t really about the drinking, even though, the champagne was welcome to calm my nerves and warm my veins. The rules to these parties were that ladies could come on their own, but men had to come with a date. As my eyes roamed the room I tried for nonchalance as I took in the beautiful forms present. Ladies were in exquisite lingerie of fine lace and beading, with beautiful ribbons adorning their exotic bodies. The men were just as sensuous with strong hard bodies and wearing some form of boxer shorts or buck-naked. Watching them was making my mouth water and my body hum with need. It was still quite early and people were mingling, although it appeared that an orgy had formed along one of the couches. The fabric of the couch was a rich cream with golden wood moldings along the frame. The couch was long and large with a high frame back. Everything about this place felt like it belonged in a museum. As I watched four couples lined up along the couch having sex, my need for my own release grew.
The first couple was a gorgeous guy with a ripped body and short buzzed brown hair. He had a blonde lady with the perfect amount of curves on top of him, riding his cock. Her head flailed back and her blonde hair swished in the air, adding to the sexual ambiance in the room. The couple next to them was an exotic mix, a brunette with tanned skin and mid-length hair. She was sitting spread eagle while a blonde man with pale skin was licking between her legs. As my eyes roamed to the next couple my need to play heightened.
The third couple was a woman with jet-black hair, she looked Asian with the perfect body and small tits like mine. She was on her knees sucking off a dark skinned man; he looked to be a mix of Caucasian and African American. His hands tousled her hair as he watched her take in his large cock. The look on his face was one of carnal lust.
Within minutes of arriving, my skin warmed and I was successfully pulled from my lonely reality, albeit temporarily, the emptiness in the pit of my stomach would never cease. The empty breaths I took to pass another day. The pain of loss never wavering. As the sexual energy thrummed throughout the room, I found it hypnotizing and therapeutic. I strolled around in search of an available prospect, a brief connection. I slipped off my red dress, exposing a red lace bra with matching panties and my red stilettos. Did I look cheap? Maybe, my lingerie was lacking in the intricate embroidery department as most of the ensembles this evening were dressed in crystals and ribbons beyond what I’ve ever seen. The level of wealth didn’t throw me off. These parties weren’t for the purposes of displaying wealth. They were for pleasure and beauty. I was by no means vain. I felt my own inadequacies with my small breasts, but I was comfortable enough in my own skin, and my body hummed as it usually did when the time for play was near.
This crowd seemed familiar with one another, and on some level I felt like the outsider that I was. They looked upper class and maybe a part of the same social circles. As the night progressed more people were hooking up, and I took on the role of onlooker. I didn’t like this role, despite the fact that it was socially acceptable, a lot of the partners liked to give a good show. It was like watching porn, only live, but for me it didn’t curb my needs or fill my lonely heart.
I climbed the long staircase, my hand caressing the unique golden railing that felt cool under my fingers. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was real gold. Feeling slightly tense to be walking through a stranger's home, I cautiously roamed the house. I counted five bedrooms in all, one with a locked door. Each room was similar to the next, all with large king sized beds nestled between beautiful 19th Century French furniture. The beds were adorned in intricate tapestries and gorgeous people were fucking and playing all over them. The simultaneous orgasms strung through the room like a violinist stringing a rapid beat. My heart rate sped up as I felt a pang of jealousy. I wanted to feel alive and thrumming like them. The intense sexual energy was an overwhelming aphrodisiac I wanted to taste, but there were no prospects. Couples had swapped partners and were ‘playing’ out different fantasies. One couple had a man commanding a woman to give another guy a blow job. He was dictating how she should suck him off and which ways to move her tongue. The man was so turned on that his dick was pulsating in front of him.
When the other man came all over her mouth, her partner pushed himself into her and started fucking her from behind. I had to admit not every part of the scene enticed me. There were people and preferences I didn’t care for, but there were also people that gave me exactly what I wanted that appeared to need that connection, even if it was with a complete stranger. It didn’t really make sense when I thought too much about it, but then it did make sense when I reminded myself that everyone has needs, and some of us have a handicap on their heart. We are unable to give it away in that special way because we’ve seen and experienced devastation or have been traumatized so badly that our ability to love has been taken away, or buried deep down. I sometimes wonder why others are here. Are they like me? I know some of them are, you can see the distant look of pain in their eyes. Then, there are those that can’t stay in a monogamous relationship, and those that want to test out their fantasies, and all those reasons are perfect, real, and honest. It’s why I like to come. The people here don’t hide who they are, they just are.
As I strolled out of a bedroom I felt the chance of a prospect for the evening waning. I paused in front of the golden bannister to take in the scene down below, the luscious view of the numerous orgies. I was so turned on…
“Hello.” A man came up beside me and leaned on the bannister. He was incredibly tall, over six feet for sure, with a muscular build. His eyes were green like mine but there were specs of gold sprinkled in them. When he looked at me, I felt the need to look away. There was something intense and forbidden in his gaze. His dark hair was wet and slicked back, like he may have stepped out of a Calvin Klein underwear ad and he was wearing a pair of Calvin Klein briefs and a white tank that showed off his strong abs and narrow waistband. His accent was thick and gruff and matched his strong body and tough poise.
“Hi,” I responded, feeling my legs buckling. The apartment was lust filled but his presence caused the air in the room to shift as a spike of electricity bolted through me. My eyes roamed every inch of the fine male specimen in front of me: powerful, sexy, beautiful.
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“Luc, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he extended his hand, using that raspy accent that sounded like heaven.
“Vicky,” I replied firmly, not allowing my weak-at-the-knees feeling to betray my front. As I extended my hand to his, his tough demeanor was at odds with his gentle response as he took my hand, gently brushing his sensuous lips across my heated skin. My body betrayed me as shooting need burst straight to my hungry core.
“Why is a pretty girl like you by herself?” he asked with a slight grin.
“I should be asking you the same question,” I replied nervously, hoping to hide how much his presence affected me, and feeling like I sounded stupid at the same time. My cheeks flushed…did I just call him a girl?
He threw his head back laughing a deep throaty laugh, clearly amused by my answer.
“Are you new to town? I’ve haven’t seen you around,” he asked, drawing his thick dark brows together.
“You could say that,” I replied curtly, and his lip tugged up further making him look even sexier.
“How about you?” I asked, figuring that his accent was definitely not a New York accent.
He nodded his head. “I’m from France, but I’ve been living in New York for two years now. This is my home.” He waved his hand in the air to show me that the extravagant apartment belonged to him.
“Well, you have a beautiful home, Luc.” I smiled and his gaze intensified. His mere presence made me want to drop my panties. I don’t remember ever feeling that kind of want before. I always got turned on at the parties, it was hard not to. The conversation with this man was making me want something more intimate. It was a feeling that I hadn’t had in a long time.
Wild Cards Page 4