The Possibilities - Desire - A Collection of Short Stories

by Stormy Adams

  Nettie’s hand had eventually crept inside Scott’s trousers, her hand cupping and exploring him, finally accessing bare skin. She brought him to the edge several times, suddenly stopping by squeezing him tightly and holding him until he breathlessly subsided. She already knew how tonight would end, she had planned it that way. It was not something she enjoyed; she merely tolerated it because it gave her unlimited power over men. It was for that reason alone that she pretended to love doing it, making the appropriated loving noises as she opened her mouth wide for her lovers. For most of them, it was the most intimate and personal gift a woman could bestow on them…and they adored her for it. For Scott, it was a near religious experience.

  She kissed him again in the shadows of the darkest area on the stage, and then briefly brushed off her knees. Smiling up at him in the dim light, “I have to go tonight,” she whispered. “I so wanted to go to your place, but we’ve stayed here longer than I intended.” She placed her fingers on his chest and kissed him gently once more. “I’m sorry Scott, will you take me to your place tomorrow night and make love to me?” Helplessly, Scott nodded his head.

  She left before he did, insisting that she would take a cab home. Scott sat alone at the darkened table, nursing a double Scotch and daydreaming of Nettie, exactly as she had planned. She wanted him to build up his dreams for the following night, she wanted him at the peak of his desire for her…she wanted him to give the wildest sexual performance of his life. There was something about this man that affected her deeply, and it was entirely possible that he was the one. She could barely wait for their next meeting.

  Nettie had not accounted for the frustrated and fractured personality of the positively anal Lawrence Willingham Forrest IV. Humiliated, he had left the club rather than face the laughter and snide comments of his friends, and he sat in the back seat of his Bentley until he saw Nettie leave. Grimly, he got out of the Bentley and walked to the alley beside the club, where he hunted and located the remains of a two by four in the trash there. Holding it in his hands like a club, he silently waited for the big man in the blue blazer.

  Scott was still daydreaming of Nettie when he left the club, checking the oversized face of his Seiko when some instinct made him raise his left hand. The two by fur glanced off his muscular forearm and struck the back of his head. He heard a panicked gasp and caught a glimpse of the panicking face Lawrence Willingham Forrest IV just before the wooden stud caught him a more direct blow on the back of his skull.

  AMBUSHED

  Lawrence took one look at the sprawling behemoth on the sidewalk before he turned and ran. He’d planned more for the insulting bark who’d had the temerity to trespass on his personal turf. It didn’t matter that Nettie had broken it off with him more than a year before; it would be over when he decided it would be over.

  Scott awakened feeling as if he had been run over by a water buffalo. His head ached and the light coming in through the window in the hospital room hurt his eyes. He opened them anyway, meeting the bright intelligent brown eyes of a nurse who was watching him curiously. He grinned ruefully. “Did anyone get the number of the train that hit me?” he asked her.

  Her name tag said ‘Linda’, and she wasn’t smiling. “You’re old enough to know better than to be brawling outside a club in Manhattan at one o’clock in the morning,” she said sternly. “Now that you’re awake, we’ll have Doctor Seasons check you for a concussion. When you wouldn’t wake up, we got very concerned.” She looked rather put out with him…but she was very pretty.

  “I’m okay with waiting for the Doc, ma’am, but I wasn’t brawling, I was ambushed.”

  Linda looked at him curiously. “I’m not sure I understand the difference,” she sniffed.

  “You would if you were a soldier,” he said, his head still smarting. “And for your general fund of information, Nurse Linda, recent combat trauma studies conducted by the military in Iraq and Afghanistan suggest that sleep after blunt force head trauma reduces the risk of permanent damage from concussion.”

  “You’re a soldier?” she asked. “I kind of figured you were a cop, from the scars and all I mean,” she said with a faint blush. She had taken her time sponging him off and fitting him into the hospital Johnny. Even with the scars and the obvious bullet holes he was gorgeous as hell. Her face went back to its businesslike mask. “After Doctor Seasons sees you the police want to talk with you.” She turned to leave.

  “Is there any chance I can get something to eat or a cup of coffee?” he asked. “I’m starving.”

  Linda turned and gave him a smile. “Breakfast is over, but I’ll see if I can scare something up for you. The doctor will have to clear you before you can eat it though.” She giggled, “I’m not supposed to give you anything to drink, but in light of the useful information you gave me about blunt force head trauma and sleep, I’ll see if I can’t sneak a cup in here…but its hospital coffee, it’s not really good.”

  “As long as it’s hot, black, and wet,” he said.

  She was back in a few minutes, holding a ceramic mug of steaming liquid instead of the Styrofoam cup usual in hospitals. He took it gratefully, noticing the name ‘Linda’ stenciled on the side. “I’d have been back sooner, but I had to make fresh and wash the cup.” Unlike normal hospital coffee, which either tasted like hot water or mud, the coffee was strong and aromatic. “It’s my own blend,” she said perkily, and my dad always said the only way to drink coffee was in a ceramic mug.”

  “Your dad sounds like a man after my own heart,” Scott said, “thanks.”

  Linda looked down at the floor, but she was smiling. “My dad was a soldier,” she said, “First Ranger Battalion.”

  “Was?” Scott asked.

  “He was killed in the first Gulf War,” she said.

  Silently, Scott raised his cup to the memory of her father, a warrior’s salute.

  They sat comfortably in silence, waiting for the Doctor. Doctor Seasons examined Scott thoroughly and then reviewed the x-rays carefully. “We were a little worried about you when you wouldn’t wake up last night when they brought you in.” Scott quickly told him of the recent study, and when Doctor Seasons looked dubious, Scott gave him the name of the physician who had conducted the study. Seasons looked at Scott in surprise. “Hell, I know that guy, worked with him at Walter Reed!”

  “He’s a hell of a doc,” Scott said, “I can personally testify to that.”

  Doctor Seasons glanced at Linda. “I can smell that coffee by the way…any chance I can sneak a cup before I have to continue my rounds?” Linda gave him a cute grin and left the room. Seasons sighed. “I’m not as pretty as you Sergeant, I’ll bet you breakfast that I don’t get mine in a ceramic mug.”

  The police officer came in with his clipboard, and filled out the report. “Did you get a look at your assailant sir?”

  “No,” Scott said with a straight face. Some things were better taught outside in the fresh air than in the confines of a courtroom where a high priced lawyer could manipulate justice and affect the outcome or the penalty. Besides, Lawrence Willingham Forrest IV had made this personal.

  CATCH AND RELEASE

  He went straight to his studio from the hospital. Nettie wasn’t home so he left a voice mail postponing their date til the next night, telling her a partial truth. He said he had spent the night in the emergency room and would explain when he saw her. Then he took a cold shower and a couple of aspirin. Wearing only a pair of faded jeans, he sat down at his laptop computer with a steaming mug of coffee that reminded him of Linda. He booted up the computer and began the hunt for Lawrence Willingham Forrest IV. The man wasn’t hard to find at all.

  Scott drove a perfectly restored 1976 Ford Bronco that purred like a kitten as he sat in the cool night air, waiting for the Bentley to leave the guarded parking garage. He had started the Bronco to warm it up when he saw the lights go out in Forrest’s penthouse apartment. It wasn’t far to the club, and Scott knew from his reading that Forrest was a creature of
habit. The man made several stops before he parked across the street from the alley where he had ambushed Scott. He stood inside for a moment, glancing around the club before entering it with his customary cocky strut. Scott crossed the street and rummaged in the alley until he found what he was looking for. Then he crossed the street again, entered the Bronco, and settled back against his seat, waiting for the cocky bastard to come back outside.

  When Forrest came strutting out of the club he was accompanied by a drunken blonde who was staggering alongside of him. He reached the car before a rich, deep voice stopped him in his tracks. “I don’t think you want to be here for this ma’am,” Scott said from the shadows, “it’s not going to be pretty.” He slapped the palm of his hand with the stub of two by four, hard. The blonde ran awkwardly in the high heels, the classic New Yorker…she didn’t want to get involved.

  “You can’t do this to me,” Forrest said, pointing at the security cameras focused on the parking lot. Too bad there isn’t one in the alley, Scott thought, and then this wouldn’t be necessary.

  “I’m not here to do anything tonight, "Scott told him. He smiled his most gentle smile and rubbed the still sore back of his head. “I’m here to let you know that payback is coming.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture of himself, wearing full combat regalia, and standing in the midst of a scene of utter carnage. “I spent twenty years of my life hunting down sadistic, dishonorable men who think it's right to kill innocent women and children to further their own political ends. I found you in one afternoon…one afternoon…and here we are. I just wanted you to know that I’m among the best on earth at payback. One of these nights there won’t be any security cameras, no witnesses, absolutely nothing to prove I was there. Just keep looking over your shoulder. One night, I’ll be there.” Scott reached out and touched Forrest on the back of his head with a gentle hand. “And I’m going to make you pay.”

  Lawrence Willingham Forrest IV ran screaming for the entrance to the club. Scott smiled to himself and walked over to toss the stud back into the alley. He was satisfied when he started the Bronco and drove away and he whistled a few bars of Don’t Fear the Reaper, an oldie from Blue Oyster Cult. For a coward, fear was the ultimate punishment. He was through with Lawrence Willingham Forrest IV.

  DEVASTATION

  Nettie climbed the short staircase leading to Scott’s studio. It was a converted loft, the living area on a mezzanine above the floor. He let her in and she immediately smelled a huge variety of woods. It was amazing that so many of the smells were distinct, and didn’t merge with the others. Nettie could smell cedar, pine, oak, sandalwood and a myriad of others. In awe, she wandered through examining the various works in progress. She stopped before a small block of sandalwood, weathered on the outside from long exposure to water and weather, yet incredibly fragrant where Scott had broken the weather seal to rough out the shape of a camel. It was all driftwood, much of it rare, collected from the four corners of the earth.

  She turned to face him, his arms wrapping her up as she stepped into them. Tonight Nettie was wearing a different style of ‘little black dress’, one that wrapped around her and fastened with a single sash. A single tug released the dress and a shrug caused the flimsy garment to fall to the floor. She was wearing nothing else.

  Scott carried her up the stairs to his bed. It was almost like a fairy tale. Her expensive dress had fallen into the wood shavings unheeded and lay there still. Their eyes locked in a visual embrace; he managed to carry her to the bed without stumbling. He laid her softly on the bed and began to remove his clothing.

  Nettie watched as he uncovered his perfect body, which was marred only by a few scars and two small puckered bullet wounds, which only enhanced his beauty in her eyes. She welcomed him in the time honored way, opening herself to the most beautiful and perfect penetration of her life. Their lips met and her wetness and warmth enfolded him in ineffable sweetness. His desire had not diminished in their day away from her, but something in the back of his head began to gnaw at him as she writhed wantonly beneath him.

  Nettie began to whisper into his ear, reliving their adventure on the dance floor, her voice getting louder as she recalled vividly the things that had excited her the most. Somehow the things that had meant the most to him seemed to have skipped her notice entirely. She became wilder beneath him, urging him into her, begging him for more. She became more verbal, pulling out all the stops. Scott tried to stop himself, to pull out of her, horrified at the filth spewing from her mouth...but she had locked her heels behind him and wouldn’t let him go. When he had filled her, she let him go. She was laughing at him, calling him a wimp for not giving Forrest the whipping he had deserved. Nettie told him she had been inside when the punk had come crying into the club, and he had told her the whole story.

  Nettie was disappointed, Scott wasn’t the animal she had expected to uncover when she had come here tonight, but she had been warned. If he’d been the man she thought he was, he would have beaten Forrest to a pulp.

  Scott felt dirty, and used. He stood and ordered her from his studio and she laughed at him. He lifted her bodily and carried her downstairs, lifting her dress from the floor. He took both to the door and dumped them outside. Her laughter echoed after him.

  He went directly to the shower and turned the water on as hot as he could stand it. He took his back scrub brush and a bar of plain soap, and began scrubbing his skin red trying to wash the slimy feel from his skin. It didn’t help.

  NEW HORIZONS

  A phone call reminded him that Doctor Seasons wanted to do a follow up to make sure nothing had been missed during his visit to the Emergency Room. He was given the address of Seasons private practice office in the huge hospital complex. He found it and registered with the receptionist, and then waited in the waiting room until his name was called. He was depressed, and he was deeply embarrassed at being so completely fooled by Nettie.

  “Scott Neville,” a familiar voice called out. Linda was standing in the doorway, smiling at him with a fresh and friendly face. In her hand was a ceramic mug of steaming coffee. “Just the way you like it,” she said, “but please wait until I’ve taken your blood pressure before you drink any of it.”

  Scott smiled at the wholesome quality the woman exuded. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

  A NIGHT OF LOVE AND BANDAGES

  THE INSUFFERABLE PRICK

  He was an arrogant bastard, she knew that right away. Bridie Halloran was no idiot, she was perfectly aware that some of the people who came to this club were unsavory characters who didn’t mind walking outside the lines when it came to the law, but this insufferable prick was outrageously indifferent to the sale and use of cocaine and marijuana. He was sitting next to a guy who seemed to be supplying the whole club, laughing, drinking, and flirting with the flocks of young women gravitating to the dealer’s table. The real problem Bridie had with him was the instant chemical spark that passed between them when she had first come in the door.

  She would have slapped any other man who had come on to her the way that this one had. He had stood up as she entered and maneuvered her into a shadowy alcove. One muscled arm had slid up the wall beside her and his handsome face inched closer to hers. He was wearing unbelievably expensive clothes. The silk tee shirt in pastel blue carelessly tossed over the hand tailored slacks, silk socks, and highly polished Italian loafers, not to mention the incredibly expensive Breitling watch and the gold jewelry…his ensemble had to have cost most of what she made in six months. The scent he was wearing was subtle and vastly expensive.

  Bridie Halloran was not one of the gold diggers that frequented the club, she was a fashion reporter for a popular women’s magazine…she knew clothes, jewelry, shoes, and scents because it was her livelihood. She saw male models, in various states of dress and undress on a daily basis, and she shouldn’t have been affected by this street hood and his flashy getup…but she was. When his face was close to hers and she was breathing in the delic
ate yet manly smell of his cologne, her nipples had hardened and she felt dampness between her thighs. Of their own volition her thighs spread apart, just barely, as her gaze was locked on his dreamy, hot amber eyes.

  He was just over six feet tall, and he had the lean muscled body of an athlete. When he moved, it was effortlessly and he seemed to almost glide. He was confident and smooth, and his brilliant white smile dazzled her. She even noticed that his hands, while broad and strong, were manicured impeccably. His longish wavy black hair hung down over his eyes, and he tossed his head occasionally, to clear the locks from his eyes. On a woman, the gesture would have been fetching. On the insufferable prick, it was devastating. Even while he was obviously hitting on her, other women were approaching him, touching him, and doing everything but stripping for him in the dark alcove. Bridie had no doubt that more than one of them had been willing to do just that to get his attention.

  “Wouldn’t you rather be someplace quiet and romantic tonight?” he had asked her softly. There was absolutely no doubt that he was full of himself.