Second Time Around

by Darrin Lowery

  Then there was the lovemaking. It was gentle, passionate, and deliberate—the first time. And he made her come. The second time, that same night, he was deliberate and forceful in his lovemaking; still passionate, and yet he took his time. Again, he made her come. The third time, that same night, he fucked her. He fucked her like he was trying to chase away demons. He fucked her like he was trying to force memories of another woman or another love clear out of his head. He fucked her well. He became primal in his lovemaking and again he made her come.

  The fourth time, she awoke to his warm, wet kisses all over her body. He was tender and sweet and he whispered sweet nothings to her, telling her how beautiful she was, how stunning she was. By the fourth time, her womanhood was sore, her vaginal lips swollen with heat and passion. He kissed her everywhere but there, and again blood flowed to her vagina, life flowed to her vagina and dare she say it, love flowed to her vagina.

  As he made love to her that final time, he touched her. He caressed her. He looked deep into her warm, brown eyes as he made love to her. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, and her arms. His strokes were long, slow, deep, and deliberate, but yielding . . . feeling . . . pulsating. He fought back the urge to come himself. That was the patience he showed with her, the passion he showed with her. He savored her sex. He savored her touch, and just as he held back the urge to come, she held back the urge to kiss him.

  He made her feel like no other man had.

  He made love to her like that each and every time.

  It didn’t help that he also took her out on dates.

  It didn’t help that some days they didn’t even make love right away. Some days, he simply massaged her back, or rubbed her feet, or took her into his arms upon arrival and slow danced.

  She was selling a fantasy.

  But he was selling one as well.

  And then there was this line that was drawn.

  And then there was last weekend.

  Last weekend he took her to the movies. They held hands and went for a long walk afterward. He took her to the park, where she sat on a swing. They went out for ice cream later, then dinner, then dancing, where they had a few drinks and then they went back to his place.

  They went back to his place where they made love. She went to sleep, and when she awoke, he was sitting there, watching her. He watched her as she slept. When she awoke, he was caressing her face and smiling.

  Again, her bathwater was drawn. He then did something no other man had ever done. He picked her up, carried her to the tub, and gently laid her in. He then lit a few candles, turned on some soft music, and began to wash her back.

  He bathed her.

  He bathed her like she was his woman.

  He touched her as he bathed her.

  He touched her, bathed her, planted kisses all over her neck and shoulders and again, told her how beautiful she was; how stunning she was.

  He washed every inch of her.

  He then dried her off.

  He carried her back to the bed, where he slowly and methodically made love to her. He was deep inside of her when she kissed him. He was deeper than any man before him had ever gone. He touched places no other man could reach.

  By that, he touched her heart.

  She kissed him.

  He reciprocated.

  That night, they made love over . . . and over . . . and over again.

  All week long she thought about the fact that she kissed him. All week long she thought about that passionate love that they made. All week long, she was conflicted about him.

  This week she tried to go back to the way things were. This week she tried to go back to business as usual. This week she tried to put her emotional walls up that came tumbling down after months and months of orgasms.

  It was sex. That’s all it was, sex. Sex accompanied by orgasm; strong, long-lasting waves of orgasm. It was physical, nothing else. This was the lie she tried to tell herself. Then there was the line that had been drawn.

  It was a very blurry line at this point.

  She tried to go back to the way things were before the kissing. Darren wasn’t having it. Apparently, he thought a lot about last week as well. What she felt, he felt. What she wanted secretly, he wanted openly. He hadn’t felt this way about anyone in a long time. Not since her. Not since Korie. He was finally at a point in his life where he was comfortable calling her by name. Before the kiss with Stephanie, Korie was just her.

  He wanted to move forward. She wanted to move backward. Backward was safe. Two weeks ago was safe. Someone had to draw a line in the sand and Stephanie figured it had to be her. Darren was a customer. He was a john. He was nobody. That’s what Elite Escorts would say. Stephanie’s heart and vagina would argue that he was something more, he was something special.

  But the line had been crossed, and with that passage there were words, emotions, and ties that bind people together. Their arrangement had evolved from something more than a consumer and a provider of goods.

  The fact that they were arguing confirmed that it was much more.

  “So you’re telling me that you feel absolutely nothing for me?” he asked.

  “I’m telling you that you are a customer and as I told you initially, there can never be anything between us.”

  “And the kiss?”

  “The kiss was a mistake.”

  “And for you, it’s only about the money. All I am to you is a means to make money?”

  His question hurt. His words hurt. Pain was clearly written across his face. There was both pain and confusion. Confusion that she placed there, when she placed her lips on his.

  “It’s more than the money. This is unrealistic.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is. Because of how we met. If we met under different circumstances, then maybe—but we didn’t! We can’t even think about being together because it’s wrong.”

  “Because you’re an escort?”

  “Because I’m a whore!”

  She said it. He thought it, but he wouldn’t dare say it, not again. The elephant in the room was now visible. Clinically, he opened a door that he chose before now not to see. Clinically, he opened up more than her heart. The words that would follow would make their arrangement either evolve further, or fall completely apart.

  Silence overtook the room.

  Tears streamed down Stephanie’s face.

  Desperation was on his.

  One of them needed to break the silence. Because he had the degree and the credentials, and because he wanted to make an argument to be with her, he broke the silence first.

  “You’re not a whore.”

  He walked in her direction. He tried to hug her, but she kept him at arm’s length.

  “I made three hundred and sixteen thousand dollars last year.”

  She spoke with tears in her eyes and she took a step back from him.

  “I made three hundred and sixteen thousand dollars last year sleeping with men. And that’s after taxes. Do you know how many men that is? Do you know what I had to do to make that kind of money?”

  Her eyes were bloodshot. She stepped away from him and sat in the chair.

  “Stephanie. We can do this. I’m serious. We can make this work.”

  “And then what?” Her voice was filled with anger.

  “What do you mean?” He had a look of confusion on his face.

  “I mean and then what? Say we became a couple. What do we tell people? How do we say that we met? What would we tell our kids? Daddy got horny one night and called an escort agency and the rest is history?”

  “Don’t do this.”

  “Don’t do what? Tell the truth? Don’t you think this is a bit crazy? The truth of the matter is you’re a customer that pays for pussy. The truth is that I’m a woman who provides pussy for a fee. Darren, you are not the first man to fall for an escort. Thus, the rules I told you about when you first called me. Men fall in love with strippers, escorts, and whores all the time.”

>   He walked over to her and caressed her back.

  “I care about you,” he said.

  “You care about the fantasy. You don’t know me.”

  “I know that you want a picket fence. I know that you want two kids and a dog. I know that you want to see the world. I know that you want to see Paris, Rome, and Italy. I also know that I want to do those things with you.”

  Stephanie stood up and walked across the room. She didn’t want to be touched and it was clear she had a lot of her mind.

  “And what would we do for money? Here’s a better question: What would I do for money? You certainly aren’t going to pay me three hundred thousand plus a year.”

  Darren let out a sigh. “No, no, I’m not. I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

  “No. No, we won’t. Do you know how many men I’ve been with?”

  Silence.

  “Do you know how many trips I’ve been on? How many men I’ve gone out with? Hell, I’d have to leave Chicago alone just so I wouldn’t be recognized. And by the way, how would that make you feel? How would you feel if everywhere we went there were men who walked up to me and spoke while I was with you? Men who have been intimate with your woman?”

  “I can handle that.”

  “Can you?” She placed her hand on her hip.

  Reality was starting to set in. Her words were harsh, but they were real.

  “No. No, I guess not. I guess . . . I just got caught up in all of this. I guess when you kissed me—never mind.”

  He looked dejected. He looked hurt. She felt hurt as well. She walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek. She placed both hands over his face before speaking.

  “You’re sweet. But you can’t turn a ho into a housewife.”

  He placed his hands in hers.

  “You’re not a ho.”

  “No. I’m an escort, and you . . . you are a customer. That’s all that can ever be between us.”

  Her words were confident, definitive. He was just about to speak when his cell phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “I need to see you.”

  “Who is this?”

  “DeVaughn Harris.”

  He said to Stephanie, “Give me just a minute. I need to take this call.”

  He took the call in the next room.

  When he came out, Stephanie was gone.

  An hour later, a limousine was out front waiting to take Darren to Wilmette.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Darren stepped into the limo and let out a deep sigh. He would have loved to have driven his new Mercedes Benz CL-Class sports car, but he had too much on his mind. It was good that Mr. Harris sent his driver. Darren was too preoccupied with his situation with Stephanie to drive, let alone drive in rush-hour traffic. He used the check for a hundred grand that Mr. Harris gave him to buy a top-of-the-line Mercedes. He traded in his sports car and hadn’t looked back since.

  He loved his new car. He loved his new lifestyle. The only thing that could make things better would be to have Stephanie on his arm. He couldn’t help feeling as if they just broke up, although they were never really a couple.

  She was right, though. Escort was just another way of saying high-priced whore. Darren wondered to himself where he went wrong. He wondered to himself when things got so out of control. He thought, this must be what it’s like when an addict realizes that they have a problem. This must be what Mr. Harris was going through.

  It was then that Darren decided that he needed to follow his own advice. It was then that he decided that he needed a woman in his life, a real woman. As the limo drove him to Wilmette, he pulled out his phone and sent a text. He sent a text to a number he wasn’t even sure existed anymore.

  IS THIS STILL YOUR NUMBER?

  -DARREN

  He let out a heavy sigh and his heart skipped a beat when he hit SEND on his cell phone. He closed the cell phone and tried to get his head back in the game. Mr. Harris was one of his best clients. And, considering the last time that Darren helped him, he got a 100K tip, he needed to bring his “A” game with his client.

  I hope things are still okay with him and his new woman. The last thing in the world I need to be doing right now is giving anyone relationship advice. I need to get my own shit together. Maybe Korie and I can pick up where we left off. Nah, who am I kidding? She’s probably sitting up somewhere fat as hell and has probably had at least two kids by now. There is no way in hell she still has the same number.

  Darren dismissed the idea of getting back with Korie as quickly as he thought about it. There was probably no hope for him and Korie, but he knew what he wanted in life. Now he finally knew. Being with Stephanie these past few months gave him some insight into what he wanted. He couldn’t but help feeling that he had it all before when he was last with Korie. He had all that and more. Still, Korie was his past and he needed to look forward to the future. He was sure that she had long since moved on, so perhaps he should too.

  Darren resigned himself to think that the next woman he fell in love with needed to provide the same love and support and passion that he once shared with Korie. He wanted her to be as down to earth as Stephanie. He wanted a woman like Stephanie in the bedroom, and a woman like Korie everywhere else.

  Darren made up in his mind that he and Stephanie would go back to simply being customer and service provider. That was the smartest thing that either of them could do. They would keep things strictly physical. Emotions had no place in their arrangement.

  It was 6:00 P.M. when Darren arrived at the Harris estate. The driver pulled up to the front door and Darren was met with a smile from Mr. Harris, who met him halfway after opening the door. The two men shook hands.

  “Wow, this is an amazing house,” Darren said.

  “Why, thank you. Please come in. I hope I didn’t put you out by calling you here on such short notice?”

  “No, no, you didn’t. How can I be of help to you, Mr. Harris?”

  “Let’s go in my study where we can have some privacy.”

  “Okay, sure. Any chance I can get a tour of the place?”

  “Sure. I’m sorry, where are my manners? Please, let me show you my house.”

  Mr. Harris’s home reminded Darren of the rapper 50 Cent’s home on MTV Cribs. It had vaulted ceilings, marble fireplaces, limestone moldings, a library, skylights, balconies, and a wet bar. He had a number of custom hot-tubs, a sauna, steam room, home theater, and a basketball and tennis court in the back. His kitchen boasted marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, art deco furniture, and a grand pool out back. Darren thought to himself, This is how I want to live one day.

  When the tour was over, Darren and Mr. Harris retired to the study. Mr. Harris poured himself and Darren a glass of bourbon and offered Darren a Cuban cigar. The two men sat across from one another. Before speaking, Mr. Harris grabbed a small black remote. He pressed the sensor twice and the fireplace in the den lit up.

  That’s some player-ass shit right there, Darren thought.

  “So, Mr. Harris. What’s going on? You’re not having problems with the new woman in your life, are you?”

  “No, no, no. Nothing like that. In fact, things with her couldn’t be better.” Mr. Harris smiled.

  “Then how can I help you?”

  “Well, now, here’s the thing. For starters, I think I might be—not sure—but I might be in love.”

  “Okay,” Darren said, laughing. “That’s a good thing, right?” He lit his cigar.

  “Yes, yes it is. But here is the problem. I’m worried that I might be in love and, by being in love, losing my edge in business.”

  “Why is that?”

  Mr. Harris went on to tell Darren about his deal with the Japanese. There was a company called the Aichi Corporation, that was trying to move in and merge with a larger company, but couldn’t raise the capital they needed. Mr. Aichi, the CEO, was looking for a partner, one with majority shares but minor input. Mr. Harris was going to back the Aichi C
orporation and play as if he had little interest in the company’s long-term holdings. Then, just as they began to grow, he planned on taking over the company entirely and expanding in the Asian markets.

  “Okay,” Darren said. “So what happened?”

  “That’s just the thing. I don’t know. One minute everything was cool, and the next, they backed out of the deal.”

  “So . . . what makes you think that you’re losing your edge?”

  “I don’t know. Everything was just so unexpected. I mean, they need the money. Not working with me, means this deal doesn’t get done. It also means that Mr. Aichi’s dream is done before it even gets off the ground. They need me. I can’t figure out for the life of me what went wrong.”

  “Did you ask them?”

  “They haven’t returned my calls. They simply sent a letter saying that they can no longer move forward with our business venture. Ain’t that a bitch?”

  “Sounds rude.”

  “It’s damned rude.”

  “Let me ask you a question. What was the last thing that happened before the deal was severed?” Darren’s clinical skills told him to trace Mr. Harris’s steps.

  “We were in the middle of talks. I had my people on one side of the table, and he had his people on his side. I received a phone call and I asked him politely if we could caucus. You know, have a short recess.”

  “And did he cancel the deal after your phone call?”

  “No.”

  “Did he seem offended by the call? Not to be racist, but it’s my understanding that the Japanese are very particular about business.”

  “They’re damned particular, but he was fine after my call. In fact, negotiations were in full swing.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “The deal was moving forward; we shook hands. We were scheduled to celebrate that evening, and about forty minutes after our meeting concluded, I got a phone call and then a letter.”