36 Inches: A MFMM Romantic Comedy

by Alexis Angel

  A crowd is building for the train. It's the morning rush, so it's a familiar scene. As soon as the train pulls up, everyone is bumping shoulders. Every seat is taken, and most of the overhead handrails are taken as well. I look down and one guy is 'manspreading' himself across two seats, which is annoying, but I get lucky and lean up against a metal pole in the middle of the train with a sliver of space to spare. The train lurches with forward momentum and I accidentally bump into a guy standing next to me.

  "Sorry about that," I say, waving at him apologetically. He gives me a sympathetic smile and says, "It's fine. Busy morning."

  As he says this, I notice his face. He's clean cut, with soft brown hair and he smells good—what is that—smoky, woodsy, and citrusy? Oh god, and he has a million dollar smile. And those eyes—the color of perfect weather. He smiles at me a moment longer and then looks away. I suddenly feel drawn to this man. Is it my hormones? Maybe it's the fact that I haven't slept with a man in over a month, and the last time it happened wasn't a memory I want to relive. My ex—Michael—and I had just broken up—we agreed to remain friends and he suggested we go for one drink. Yes, one drink. I know, how stupid could I be? I'm sure you know where I'm going with this. One drink turned into three, which turned into a couple more and before I knew it, I was inviting him back up to my apartment. And let's face it; I don't think anyone makes their best decisions under the influence of five or more cocktails. So, there we were, making out and peeling our clothes off faster than you can scratch an itch. The sex was mediocre at best—okay, I'll be honest; it sucked. Michael was so drunk that he couldn't even finish, so even under the haze of alcohol we both laid there in an awkward semi-embrace.

  Now that you know my sex life—or lack of one—over the last month, can you blame me for wanting this cute guy next to me? We're already standing pretty close to one another, but I decide to scoot in closer. I mean YOLO, right?

  Without pausing to think about how much my mom would be disappointed in me right now, I move in casually, looking in another direction, and I gently rub my ass against his crotch.

  Oh my God! This is like the craziest thing I’ve ever done!

  It’s morning rush hour! On a packed subway! But this guy is hot, and desperate times call for desperate measures, right? Can you blame me?

  I scooch back just a lil bit more. He doesn't move, and I can feel him looking down at me. He's tall, maybe 6'3", and I'm 5'4" so I come to his shoulders, and I continue to grind my ass into his lap. First, in gentle, delicate strokes—I'm testing the waters—and then I continue with increased bravery—my touch becomes firm and I can feel him harden underneath me. His bulge feels massive—I'm guessing he has a 12-inch cock.

  He reaches up and places his hands onto my hips, guiding my movements. He's enjoying this, and if I'm being honest, I am too. His consent spurs me on. I feel so wet. My thong is soaked and my pussy is throbbing for more. Much more, I realize, than I can get on this train during rush hour.

  "59th Street-Lexington Ave," the overhead says, and I feel the train glide to a stop. As it stops, I turn around to face this handsome man, we lock eyes, and an electric current travels down my spine. He leans down, placing one strong hand behind my head and gently brings me to him, placing his lips on mine. Actually, he kisses the corner of my mouth at first, and then nibbles on my bottom lip, bringing it between his perfect teeth. I melt under his touch and open my mouth, eagerly taking him into me. Our tongues press together, one on top of the other in a fervent embrace, and our warmth travels from each other like an electric current.

  It's not until 51st street that I realize where I'm at. I need to get off this train and go to work. My mind snaps to the present, and I back away. The doors of the train swoosh open and without saying a word, I turn around and leave. I don't look back. I can't afford to. I can hardly believe the whole encounter, and I'm now running as fast as I can. My mind is reeling. What exactly happened? I chalk it up to an only-in-New-York experience, collect myself, and head into work.

  The offices of Carter Jeffries are bustling. I don't even make it to my desk before I'm approached by my Managing Director, Nadia Moore. She’s tough as nails but she’s always been fair to me. She’s climbed the corporate ladder and I kinda wanna be just like her when I grow up – powerful and strong. But something about her sorta scares me. Like she traded in her soul.

  I don’t know if I want to do that to myself.

  "Where have you been?" she asks.

  "I know; I'm sorry I'm late. It's been a crazy morning," I say. Crazy is an understatement, but it's the word that immediately comes to mind. I mentally tell myself that I'll have to fill her in later.

  "It just so happens that our client is late too, so you're in luck, but you should hurry."

  I thank her and walk to the conference room, reviewing the main points of today's meeting.

  Remember, this is an ultra high net worth individual, I tell myself. I know that I have a golden opportunity to help this client grow his wealth and plan it accordingly.

  I mentally review his portfolio performance.

  I've spent the last week preparing for this moment. I suspect he'll want to discuss tax and estate planning as well, so I make a mental note to bring this up with the client.

  And just as I enter the conference room, a secretary buzzes me on the intercom and alerts me that the client has arrived. "He should be there any moment," she says.

  And true to her word, I see that he's not alone. With him is an entourage of lawyers. Serious looking men in black suits. They file into the conference room and begin sitting at the long mahogany table. I'm wondering to myself which one of these men is the client—could it be one of these serious looking men in a black suit?—when another, younger man enters. He's clean cut, handsome—wait… I know this man.

  No way… This can't be! He's the man from the train. This is the billionaire client. He walks into the conference room with that million-dollar smile lighting up his face, when he turns and sees me. Our eyes lock onto each other with a knowing gaze.

  Have you ever been so nervous that you felt your heart in your throat?

  That's me right now.

  Derek

  "Mr. Lowell, beyond your portfolio's performance and the tax and estate planning concerns that we just discussed, what goals are the most fundamentally important to you?"

  I nod my head because that's a good question. A lot of wealth managers seem to miss this. I'm trying to focus on her words—I'm trying to keep this all business—I'm trying to keep my eyes above her neck—but let's be honest; the image of us on the 6 train keeps replaying itself in my mind like a song stuck on repeat.

  "Sure, let's break down these goals," I say.

  I steal a quick glance at her breasts because I can't help myself, and I think back to her firm ass grinding into my lap. Sure, she made the first move, but I eagerly went along with it. Why did I do that? If you knew me, you'd know it's completely out of my character. I'm not in the habit of letting random, strange women grind all over me on the subway. How exactly did that even happen again?

  My focus snaps back to the present.

  Alicia continues, "Among the items we should discuss are: strategic use of credit, health planning, strategic philanthropy, investing for social impact, identifying your family needs and goals, and—"

  I cut her off. "I don't have a family—not yet. I mean, I'm single."

  She pauses for a moment before continuing. "Well, we can discuss your extended family as well. And beyond that, we should discuss the growth of your assets. Are you willing to seek higher returns if it means more assumed risk on your part?"

  I try to analyze her question, but all of her words are getting jumbled in my mind. They no longer have any coherent meaning to me, and I can't help but notice a new look forming in her eyes. Is this a loaded question? I look around the conference table and see my lawyers scribbling notes into their yellow legal pads.

  "Sure, I'm willing to take that risk," I say.<
br />
  I think back to this morning and how I ended up on the 6 train in the first place. My limo broke down, and instead of calling a cab, I thought I'd change things up. If I hadn't made that decision, I would never have met Alicia.

  And now that I'm looking at her again, I realize just how much I admire her. It takes a good amount of confidence to approach a man like that on the subway, and then to manage ultra high net worth clients for her day job—well, that takes a level of financial savvy that a lot of people don't have. I can appreciate both of those things in a woman.

  "I think we should take a quick break and resume this meeting in 15 minutes. Does that sound good to everyone?" Alicia asks.

  I nod my head and the lawyers all agree in unison. I watch as Alicia steps into the hallway, and I slip out to join her.

  "Wait," I say. "Now that we have a moment to ourselves, I just wanted to say—about this morning—"

  "Why didn't you tell me?" she snaps, cutting me off. I can see anger flashing in her eyes and it catches me off guard.

  "Tell you what, exactly?"

  "Why didn't you tell me you were a billionaire?"

  "And how should one go about telling strangers on the subway that they're a billionaire? Should I just wear a name tag that reads, 'Hello, My name is Derek and I'm a billionaire?'"

  "I just mean that if you had mentioned something, we wouldn't be in this awkward predicament."

  "Is it really all that awkward?" I ask. But she isn't listening.

  "And honestly, what kind of billionaire takes the subway anyways?"

  "The kind of billionaire who goes by the name of Derek Lowell," I smile. I don't feel like going into any details about the broken down limo, so I change the subject.

  "Can I take you to dinner tonight?" I ask.

  "No," she says, shaking her head. "I don't date clients. I don't want us to cross into inappropriate territory here."

  "Isn't it a little too late for that?"

  "That was a mistake," she says, looking down at her watch uncomfortably. "Our time is up. We need to jump back into our meeting."

  "After you," I say, extending my arm and indicating that I'll follow her lead.

  We enter the conference room and I notice that Nadia, the firm's Managing Director has joined us.

  I look over at Alicia and give her a smile. I'm trying to keep things as casual as they can possibly be after what happened in the subway this morning. She glances back at me momentarily, a half-smile on her face, and resumes the meeting.

  "Let's discuss how to allocate your investments portfolio," Alicia suggests.

  "First, I have a question for you," I say to both Alicia and Nadia. "What happens to my account if something happens to both of you?"

  "That's a good question," Alicia answers. "I—uh—I think I need to consult—"

  Nadia steps in and cuts her off. "What Alicia means to say is that understanding who your next point of contact is at Carter Jeffries, and how liquid your assets are is paramount. We will provide you with all of this information."

  Is it my imagination or does Nadia seem to suspect that something is going on—or was going on—between Alicia and I?

  "Pardon me for interrupting, but I believe that's what Alicia was about to say."

  Nadia seems slightly annoyed that I jumped in and protected Alicia, but she continues on and we discuss my portfolio. We spend a few hours going through a series of back and forth questions and answers until Nadia says, "Let's adjourn for lunch. We can take a quick 30 minute break, and then finish for the day."

  We all agree. As the lawyers file out, Nadia turns to me. She is standing close enough for me to smell her perfume. She has one hand on the conference table and she is leaning toward me. "Care to join me for a drink tonight?" she asks. She poses it as a question, but by the tone of her voice, it comes out more like a command.

  I notice that Alicia is listening because she pauses for a moment in the doorway. She's pretending not to notice, but it's obvious to me that she can hear every word.

  "I'm not sure," I say. "I think I may already have plans."

  "Oh come on," Nadia nudges. "Just one drink. I promise I don't bite."

  "I suppose I can manage one drink," I say reluctantly.

  With that she pats her hand on mine, smiles, and leaves the room.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Alicia

  "Girl, you wouldn't believe the day I've had," I say to Ashley.

  We're leaving the Equinox gym after a particularly intense Pilates session. The instructor—Honey—always seems to take us right to our breaking point.

  Like it's not enough to do a roll up, but she makes us add weighted exercise bags into the mix as well. I swear she hardly gives us a moment to catch our breath either—double straight leg stretch, to shoulder bridge, to double leg kick, to… well, you get the picture.

  The next day leaves me so sore that I don't want to leave me bed.

  It's a good thing Ashley agrees to this kind of torture because without her motivation, it'd be tough to stay committed to this.

  "Tough day at the office?" Ashley laughs. "Did some billionaire cry about you not balancing his portfolio to his standards, or something?"

  "Stop it," I laugh, playfully slapping her on her arm. "That's not it. Remember how I was running late this morning?"

  "Yeah, and…? C'mon, you can't leave a girl in suspense."

  "Well…" I continue, "I may or may not have made out with a billionaire on the 6 train."

  "O-M-G, what?" Ashley squeals. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

  "Look at this face," I say, giving her my most serious glare. "Do I look like I'm fucking kidding?"

  "So, like what exactly happened? Because people don't usually just make out with random men on the 6 train."

  "I don't know," I shrug. "It just happened."

  Ashley laughs again. "I bet someone Snapchatted that shit when you weren't looking. Or maybe they posted it to Instagram … you know, on that one 'subway creatures' account."

  "Eww… shut up!" I say playfully. I slap her arm again. "You're so mean. I can't believe we're BFFs sometimes."

  Of course, Ashley is like my ride or die, but I have to throw her a little shade with the hard time she's giving me. But Ashley continues to poke fun.

  "You could be Insta famous and not even know it," she says. "But seriously, what's the problem? A billionaire is kind of a catch … or wait … don't tell me. Is he like 80 years old with a triple chin?"

  "Ew, stop Ash," I say. "He was—is—super hot. That bod of his was something else, but I haven't told you the worst part about all of this."

  "What's that?"

  "He's a Carter Jeffries client."

  "What? Okay, now this is getting good. We should go grab a drink together so you can give me all of the juicy details," Ashley says.

  "I don't know… it's a work night, and I have an early morning."

  "What are you, like 30 years old or something? You're starting to sound like my parents, Alicia. That's some scary shit."

  "Fine, fine, fine …" I say. "You don't have to be so dramatic. Way to guilt me. Where are we going?"

  "Let's go to Bemelman's—at the Carlyle. It's a splurge, but you can't beat the piano. And c'mon, their La Pore cocktail is borderline orgasmic."

  After Ashley and I change into more appropriate attire, we meet at Bemelman's Bar. Sure enough, a soft jazz piano is playing in the background.

  Ashley arrives before I do and I spot her sitting at the bar. I approach her and pull out a barstool for myself.

  "Girl, don't look behind you!" she squeals.

  Of course, as soon as someone tells me to not look at something, I reflexively do. Immediately, I know what she's talking about. Twenty feet away, I spot Nadia and Derek sitting at a table.

  "That's your boss, right?" Ashley asks. "Is that a new boyfriend of hers? He's kind of hot."

  "Oh god, Ash—hide me," I say, slinking down in my barstool. "Remember that billionai
re I mentioned earlier?"

  "Of course."

  "Well, that's him."

  "What the fuck?" she says. "Just when I thought things couldn't get weirder." I can see a genuine sense of shock on her face.

  "Shit, Derek sees me," I whisper. It's clear that I'm in their line of sight and Nadia is pretending to not notice that I'm here.

  I look over again and Derek is now waving us over to his table.

  "Looks like you better go say hi," Ashley suggests. "He seems pretty insistent."

  We grab our drinks and walk over.

  "What are you doing here?" I ask casually.

  "I'm here—I mean here at the Carlyle—just until my apartment is decorated."

  "Oh nice," I say, and then I immediately kick myself for sounding so stupid. 'Nice?' Is that really what just tumbled out of my mouth?

  "You ladies should join us," Derek offers. "Pull up a chair."

  "Oh, we don't want to interrupt your date," I say.

  "Yeah, Derek, we should let these two friends enjoy their evening together," Nadia chimes in.

  From the annoyance in her eyes, it's clear to me that we are ruining her date.

  "Nonsense! Sit down. The more the merrier," Derek insists.

  I figure he isn't going to take no for an answer, so Ash and I decide to sit down and join them after all.

  "What are you two ladies up to tonight?" he asks.

  "A little Pilates, a little dinner—and here we are," I laugh. "Exciting, right?"

  "Sounds like a decent night to me," Derek smiles. "And now you're here with me. Even better."

  Just then, Nadia clears her throat.

  "It's getting late," she says, pretending to look at her watch. "I'm going to call it a night."

  She turns to Derek and asks, "Dinner tomorrow night?"

  "I—uh—I'll have to check my calendar," he replies.

  "Well, whatever's on your calendar, cancel it," she says with a devilish grin.

  "You bet," he replies, not wanting to argue, but I can detect some reluctance. "See you tomorrow."