It Had Been Years

by Malflic, Michael

  “…what you really want to for me to take you out there.”

  Nadrea just reached for his crotch trying to coax him into her intentions of here and now. “I’ll be out there Nod,” Vincent said stepping away from her. Vincent removed his touch and he was out the door before the sensation of his embrace had left her body, before she could react.

  Again she had followed him, this time into a small bathroom that she, now alone was occupying, as she stared into the mirror she wondered how Vincent could have resisted her. This was not a reaction she was use to, she could feel his arousal growing the entire time she had been there with him, but still he walked away. Looking past her own reflection, delighting at the sight of the door she had been pinned against, the spot where her warm hands had left their imprint on the cold porcelain countertop. “Did he know” she said out loud to herself “or did he guess?” She paused “…at what I wanted?” She pondered did he know what she had been thinking about most of the afternoon. She smiled and let out an evil little giggle when she realized she had continued to follow Vincent without a known rhyme or reason, this time into a restroom. She laughed a little harder as she wondered with great expectation where she would follow him next. Mussing her hair as she opened the door, she walked out to find Vincent in an entirely empty suite. He was on the far side sitting in one of the overstuffed lounge chairs. He was just sitting there calmly like nothing had or was about to happen, a bottled water in one hand and the other magnificently large hand was held as if he was posing for a picture, stoic and imposing. Vincent just stared at the suite’s TV with a mostly blank but focused expression, it was like he was just watching a game on the TV at home not at the stadium.

  It dawned on Nadrea for the first time how beautiful he was, his hair soft and shiny, his jaw strong and squared. His full lips offset by his piercing eyes. “Well, alone at last.” He said with a grin that was on loan from Satan himself. Nadrea’s image of Vincent had changed in her mind by the day. In a week he was just a man to toy with in a bar, maybe a play thing and then again maybe not. He had become the complete baneful obsession of her thoughts throughout much of the week, vilified, despised, an albatross of obsession to be disposed of on her terms in her way over dinner on Thursday. Was he cruel or casually aloof? Friday he had shown up and fit right in, but on his terms not her own despite her best efforts, she found herself at the end of the evening or in truth in the early morning in a way and place that he had planned. Perhaps he was cruel she thought to herself maybe only seemingly aloof but how could anyone who knew her for such a short time cause such a stir? She left off the part about the stir being in her cold unattached jaded little world.

  As Nadrea crossed the suite walking towards him, Vincent just sat there watching the game. “Are they gone?” she asked. “No they’re invisible” he replied not yet acknowledging her presence except for his response. She stopped in front of him to block his view of the TV. Her gazed focused on him unwavering as she admired his beauty. She looked into his eyes as he looked away watching the game on another TV more towards the field. As she continued to look deep into his eyes she got lost in them like so many others had done in Nadrea’s, but unlike when others looked into hers the returned gaze was intended to have people get lost in her. Vincent wasn’t even looking at her. But she was lost in him, his beauty, his demeanor, his ability which was quite rare to be who he was on his terms despite her best efforts, it was maddening making him all the more interesting. Vincent continued to look away, no longer focused towards the field. Had he taken even a moment to look into hers he would have at first seen what he thought to be Nadrea’s lust, arousal and wanting tied to her physical needs of the moment.

  There to be seen, if he had looked just slightly past them, he could have seen her soul. Not the image she projected, not who she pretended to be and not even who she thought she was. Had he looked at her at that moment he would have seen who she really was at her core, in the darkest depths of her clouded dark soul. Vincent’s body tensed and he stood, his posture that of aggression while yelling at the top of his lungs, his voice angry filled with unbridled rage “DOWN” he yelled as he stood. Nadrea fell to her knees, her heart raced, her arousal intensified and in an instant she went from feeling in control to unsure. Nadrea found herself afraid but excited by the new possibilities lowering her posture even further. “Fucking Down” he yelled again without pause, his entire body flared. He looked back from the field toward where Nadrea had been standing only seconds before to find her kneeling at his feet, head down eyes on the floor. “Do you roll over and play dead too?” he asked. She didn’t speak, she wasn’t sure of what he wanted, whether or not to respond in words or in actions. Vincent reached down and took her hand off the floor, leading her with it, bringing her slowly back to her feet. As she stood slowly again her eyes locked on his, this time his were focused on hers as well.

  Nadrea wasn’t sure but she couldn’t remember having ever done something so simply thrilling as holding his hand. “I wasn’t yelling at you,” Vincent stated not in his usual biting and sarcastic tone but gently and softly. Vincent may have been a swordsman and at times with consent or upon request a rough lover but he was never cruel, he did not speak to his lovers in the manner that he assumed Nadrea had just interpreted. He was not abusive, had never raised a hand in anger to a girl or woman, it was not who he was. “He was down on the play” Vincent continued to explain that he was yelling at the play, Nadrea pretended to care seeing new possibilities in the last few seconds. As Vincent continued to explain he wondered why she reacted like she did, it was seemingly so out of character for her.

  “Follow me,” Nadrea said, for once she was leading as she headed to the front row of the box. Vincent paused at the second row, tugging her behind him into it. Nadrea kissed him as he tried to place her facing him onto the table.

  “Not like that” she said “ I want to see who might be watching us” as she kissed him again turning placing her back to him and leaning forward, over the table hands in front of her with her legs straight and spread wide she leaned forward a little more and waited for him. His hands tracing over her skirt, up the back of her legs, raising her skirt in the center allowing the sides to continue to drape over her concealing at least a little their intentions, preserving her modesty for everyone but him. Entering her slowly, sliding to his full length with his first movement, his motion measured, slowly making the most of every fraction of an inch slowly sliding inside of her filling her time and again. Vincent’s pace remained maddeningly slow, deliberate, and quite intentional, his notable girth’s friction filling her with sensations, Nadrea’s intensity building. She wanted to feel his lust and force and intensity as she had on Friday night, but he just steadied her hips limiting her motion and maintaining his desired pace, the strength of his hands evident in his controlling grip on her waist. It was like he had once again found a way to touch her that she had never felt before. She looked up from the table, biting her lower lip staring out at the crowd below her, at the players on the field and the stands on the far side of the stadium. She wondered with growing excitement who might be watching them, seeing her fight back her first waves of release, fighting to hold back her orgasm, struggling to stay stoic as she moved ever so subtly with him. A willing participant in driving her own pleasure deeper and deeper again she tried to quicken his pace. Again Vincent steadied her hips denying her the speed and motion she longed for. Pressing himself deeper than she had ever felt him before, again deliberately slowing his pace even more, sliding with ease allowing each sensation one by one to reach her brain. Her orgasm now rising out of control reaching back for herself, Vincent took the hand and pinned it gently to her back. Her other arm still in front of her on the table there just in case of an increase in their thrusts speed and intensity to prevent a violent collapse forward. No one, not man or woman, not self pleasure or cock or tongue or toy had ever built the intensity of sensations he just had. For all of her experience and literally countle
ss lovers she had never been fucked quite like this before.

  Nadrea wondered for a moment what he was thinking of, she felt his undivided attention was hers, but worried that he might in some cruel twist of fate be watching the game. She looked out across the stadium one last time before collapsing her torso completely on the table, head turned to the left, hair draped across her face, breasts pressed into the surface of the table flatting has she pushed downward harder. Vincent watched as her other hand moved between her legs and just as she felt her own first self caress he removed that arm and guided it back behind her pinning it with the other. As Nadrea feigned a struggle he held both arms in place with ease behind her, both seemingly gentle and firm at the same time.

  “If what I’m doing isn’t good enough for you right now then I’ll just stop” Vincent stated cavalierly pausing again with his fullness completely inside of her, again allowing her to feel him in yet another new way and wave of sensations. Not able to fight it any longer her orgasm rose to its peak, seemingly from her feet through to her head and her entire body shaking with its intensity. She surrendered to him completely as he again began to glide through her, another release washed over her completely. As a third wave approached he tensed and released himself into her causing her sensations to again intensify even more. Arching up she imagined that the world had just watched her come, Nadrea imagined that it would never stop, but it did as Vincent removed himself and her long flowing skirt fell back into place. Vincent covered himself with a towel and she turned and headed toward the restroom. Neither had spoken yet, as Nadrea lingered following beyond, re-tucking a blouse and adjusting her belt. She tried to be most lady like while putting her thong back into a reasonable semblance of the places it was supposed to be in and not where it had become lodged off of center.

  When she returned Vincent was sitting in the front row of the large empty suite exactly in front of the spot Nadrea had just moments before been positioned behind and peering over during their interlude. “I’ve never fucked like that before” she said kissing him delicately. A kiss she intended as a genuine sign of affection rather than one with other erotic intentions. This was a nonexistent gesture in her world.

  “I know” Vincent responded with his ever present laugh followed by “Prudish librarian, called it right when I met you.”

  Nadrea began again “No! I’ve been…”

  “Fucked from behind” he interrupted “I certainly hope so, you’re over 18.”

  Nadrea for once ignored his interruptions and spoke again “That’s not what I meant. I meant I’ve never”

  Vincent cuts her off again “…Been taken in front of a stadium full of people and possibly on national TV.” He concluded.

  “Well yes and” Nadrea said growing impatient “so slow and deliberately”

  Vincent was uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading… it was heading toward genuine emotion. He decide to make light of the situation as the conversation was becoming intense and serious both things he was not in the mood for replied with. “Told you, you prudish, sexually repressed librarian. For me I do this at every at home game. Why do think every one left?”

  Nadrea was not sure if he was kidding or not again she was not the jealous type after all but she suddenly cared about whether or not this was the first time he had someone like that in this specific space. Her defenses rising.

  “So Steve must really hate it on the weekends you don’t have a date!” She quipped back at him partly out of defense and partly because she didn’t want to know the truth. She preferred to instead live in denial. Normally she would have only cared about getting off and she had certainly done that, but she wasn’t feeling quite normal, for a reason she had not yet determined she wasn’t feeling at all herself. Sitting next to him, Vincent responded with an overly hearty laugh to her jab at him “Steve’s nowhere near as good as you were.” As silence fell on the conversation with the roar of the stadium as background noise. She smiled to herself knowing that she was the first he had in that situation; in the way they had just shared together. “Besides you have much nicer legs and he looks really dumb in a dress.”

  The Bar Scene (from Star Wars)

  Steve and Samantha were the first to arrive, both still in dressed in their game day apparel, regaling each other with the stories of the day, telling each with passion and pride. Each following the others tale with great anticipation, waiting for the next words, like a favorite bedtime story that everyone hearing it knows the ending, but the characters and stories stand the test of time. Next to arrive was Christy she was not about to be late a second time today. So while Steve and Samantha were at one end of the bar Christy positioned herself alone at the other end in her navy slacks, ecru white blouse and demure weekday office appropriate make up. Two drinking beer in jeans, another seemingly total stranger at the other end dressed like she was on her way to work drinking a $12.00 glass of Chardonnay. As Christy sat alone her friend Beth came along to join in the evening. “C.Y.” Beth shouted ecstatically as she crossed the room with the grace and dignity of a Kappa Kappa Prude sorority girl and fake insincere hugs were exchanged.

  “I had dinner with Satan” Christy quietly exclaimed.

  “Really was he cute?” Beth inquired.

  Christy said in hushed tone fearing the minions of hell might hear her speak. “No, I literally had dinner with the Devil of DC” she said refusing to speak his name as if it were something so sinfully unholy she would be damned for merely uttering it.

  Beth’s body stiffened, her face grew rigid and pale. “Really?” pausing but Christy just waited for Beth to continue. “And why?” She couldn’t conceive of a reason in the entire universe to be in his presence. Smiling back at her Christy replied in her best catty but nonchalant tone “To find out Robert’s fucking some slut.” Christy continued to explain still mystified by the fact that a man could have such banal and primitive disgusting needs.

  “Whores have a place too.” Beth sympathized but in the same breath couldn’t resist asking “What was he really like?”

  “Odd and measured. He spoke in riddles and painted a picture in the air with his words that wouldn’t make any sense until later” she paused to catch her breath and then began explaining the entire twenty three interlude.

  Beth laughed “So he quotes the King James Bible as a direct set up. As a way of telling you Robert has a new hole.” Beth imagining a whore like girl in her early to mid twenty’s dressed in a mixture of Hollister and Abercrombie & Fitch. Christy returns the laugh with a giggle but then something struck her a man maybe seen in public with a tawdry little play thing but most would have enough sense to not bring a passing interlude of questionable reputation to lunch with his peers, his friends and their partners.

  “Is she either one of them?” Beth asked only half joking, directing Christy’s glance in the direction of a small table with two twenty something’s at it who were looking seemingly mindlessly out at the street. One was in a painted on pair of low cut pair of jeans a faded Abercrombie top unbuttoned as much as provincial law would allow and a pair of Do Me Sandals if such a thing exists, her hair hiding her face like a young Veronica Lake. The other in a Pink Baby Doll T and pants that looked like she had stolen them from Robert Plant in the early seventies and a tattered pair of flip flops that revealed that were light pink matching the T shirt perfectly, but she had added little dark pink polka dots.

  In a room full of strangers these two were again unique, the two at the far end of the bar were still lost in the day’s events still dressed as the fans of the local sports team nursing their beers. Two formal professional types one sipping her wine the other waiting for Fume Blanc to arrive. The younger pair of women at the table were simply enjoying a life that had not yet caught up with them, guzzling Margarita’s without a care in the world.

  Yes the term “Bar Scene” conjures up so many different images of pick up artists and flesh factories, the image of a smoky back room deals, of scheming and power
plays. It may provoke images of hopeless people drowning their sorrows, commiserating with “friends” who have little more in common with each other than the libations before them. In addition to the six described here and a room fool of other people who were little more to each other than the window dressing at that particular moment in life. The bar scene was not at all unlike so many others, the difference between Steve and Sam, Christy and Beth and of course Tiffany and Steph were all as varied and troubled, as the characters in the bar scene in the first star wars movie when in walks Han Solo.

  Worlds Collide

  Vincent walked into the restaurant, dressed just as before. He chats with the hostess who just smiles and giggles as she is quite beguiled by him. He passed by tables in the bar saying hello to anyone who was daring enough to make eye contact with him and even a few who aren’t. He greeted Sam by wrapping his arms around her from the side, shoulder down, hips squared, and legs cocked. Tackling her into the bar, Vincent was a physical guy. He was a product of his heritage, a hug here, a kiss there, and if you were part of his inner circle you occasional got mock tackled, especially during football season. As Samantha found herself jolted against the bar she secretly wished it was sexually un-inclined Steve rather than her large overly scented cousin.

  “Flowers! You smell like flowers.” Vince stated with a tone filled with mixed surprise and disgust.

  “I’m a girl, asshole,” Samantha replied thinking Vince really hadn’t changed much since he was ten.

  Laughing “Really, your asshole smells like flowers? Must come from your mother’s side.” He continued.