by Vince Taplin
I pace the apartment — 5 seconds go by — 10, then 20. A full minute has passed without a response. I check the computer and see that he is still at the bar in the same seat. The glowing dot hasn’t wavered; it mocks me, blinking at me, telling me no.
“C’mon, honey. Respond, please…” I’m a wreck — 5 minutes pass. Is he ignoring me? Waiting — 20 minutes. Really, Vick? Really? I can give you so much! I can be perfect for you! Give in to your needs, Vick! I can make your problems go away!
Buzz!
He responds: “Let’s talk.”
This is it. This is really it! Stop. Play it cool. Stop fidgeting. Cool, Alex, cool. I respond: “My office?”
He responds: “I can’t now, how about tomorrow morning? Say, ten a.m.?”
Why are you stalling, Vick? Why are you putting this off? It’s inevitable. It’s perfect. It’s us! Ha! This is so us. “That time isn’t good for me. I’m free in about half an hour for 10 minutes. Then I have meetings all night and tomorrow morning.”
Tick tock. I can’t believe it. Vick, do you have any idea how exciting this is? Do you know how long I’ve been working to create this path? The end of the road and the beginning of a new, beautiful journey together. Stop fidgeting!
No response. Nothing. Another 5 agonizing minutes pass before I see anything. But not a text, a blink. The blinking red dot moves and my heart rate skyrockets. The phone is inches from my nose now.
Where are you going, Professor? I see you.
“Okay,” Vick finally says back.
I cheer so loudly my walls cheer back. My heart is prancing! I can’t believe it. He is coming here. Coming here! It worked! I’m not much of a dancer when I’m alone, but I feel my feet frolicking and my arms flailing. Wait. Stop! I need to get ready. Not a moment to lose.
I rush to the bathroom, feet skidding to a halt before the sink. Drawers fly open. There it is! I grab the bottle of douche and leap into the shower. Cold water, then hot. It feels amazing on my skin. This is how it feels to win. I always win! My Vick. He is coming. I fill the tiny bottle with water and slip it in. I squeeze the bulb and water sprays inside me.
I repeat the process a few times and shave the important parts. Slowly, the razor traces my pubic bone. I need to relax. Breathe. If I cut myself I won’t be perfect. Breathe. Shave. Exhale. Shave. Rinse. I hit my armpits, too, but carefully. They’ve healed well, but they’re a bit uneven and asking for a nick from my razor. After I finish shaving I rub vanilla body wash everywhere, careful not to wet my hair.
My right foot slips as I exit the shower and I catch myself. Slow down, Alex, this is crunch time. Too much time preparing to let something happen now. Watch your footsteps; count backward from 10.
I wipe my shoulders first, then breasts and pits. My stomach, crotch, and thighs next. Lotion pumps frantically from a gold-colored bottle into my palm. I spread it evenly along every crevice of my body. I spray perfume in the air, and walk through it as it gently drifts to the floor.
Dry shampoo creates a small cloud of particles, enough to make my hair shine. Flyaways are my enemy tonight. I enter room 9, naked and still dripping. I pat myself dry and slide into the special red dress I keep hung up in the corner. I picked it out for this occasion, the day I own my Vick. The day he comes to me. Tonight, he will be mine.
It’s smooth on my skin. Goosebumps speckle my arms and legs. I zip the back and climb into a pair of stockings and tall pumps. I fasten the garter belt and slither into a clean pair of panties. I skip the bra because I’ve kept them perky enough to pull this off.
A light necklace crosses my collarbone, secured in the back with a snap. I gargle, brush my teeth, and run a brush through my hair. It catches my eye. At first I think it’s a shadow, a reflection. No. No! A blemish on my cheek! A zit, making its way to the surface. Fuck. Fuck! It’s hideous. What am I going to do? I’m a monster!
Breathe. Stop. Stop fidgeting and follow the plan. It’s almost done. Fix your makeup and cover up that blasphemous thing. Stick to the plan, honey. I inhale, close my eyes, and exhale. Again and again, breathing in smooth repetition. Yes. Yes. This is it. I grab my concealer and slide the brush across my cheek.
It’s been 11 minutes. He’ll be here soon. He is a blinking blip on Walnut Avenue now. Maybe 5 minutes away? Much to do. I sing it! Much to do!
I pull the sheets tight on the bed and pick up scattered laundry from the floor. It is already quite clean, but I need perfection tonight. Nothing but the best for my professor. Wine. I need wine, too. The cork pops from a bottle of 1995 Merlot and the fine red pours into my glass. I need this. Smooth flavor runs down my throat. Amazing. Absolutely amazing how one drink can calm my nerves. Not completely, but enough to breathe easier.
The red dot approaches. He is nearing the building now. What remains? What steps do I need to finish before… before… before he is here! Just one.
I snag my phone and text him: “I’m running late, Vick. Please stop by my apartment on the 44th floor. I only have a few minutes.”
Beautiful. Perfect! I’ve recited this text hundreds of times. The perfect combination of words to create a sense of urgency without being overly aggressive.
Come to me.
Chapter Fifty
I’m soaked. It doesn’t matter. Fuck it, nothing matters today. Kraya’s in jail and my kid was almost killed by his bitch of a mother. The booze now running rampant in my veins — angry blood pumps through me.
Can I negotiate something else with Alexa Livingston, at least until I get a divorce? Pfft, I’m sure. She’s a sucker for my swimmers. Maybe I can get another few hundred G’s for another sample. I laugh, “Sample! Ha!” What a joke.
Livingston Tower is huge. Holy shit it’s big. My neck cranes as I take in the sight of the building. Hundreds of tiny offices and apartments, some with lights on, some off. Rain blasts my eyes. I’m not even wiping it off anymore, it’s a waste of time. New clothes, warmth, and a towel are the only things that can fix this depth of sogginess. I reach the front desk and a handsome Asian chick looks back at me.
“I have an appointment with Alexa. Alexa Livingston.”
“Mr. Miller? Of course. Go ahead, I’ll buzz you in.”
No escort this time. No butler. Everyone must have gone home for the day. No bother, I think I’m getting the hang of this place. I sway past the big reception area and find the elevators after a few wrong turns. I push the button and a voice squeaks over the intercom. “I’ll clear you now, Mr. Miller. Thank you.”
The elevator roars to life from some floor above. It takes a few seconds, but eventually it picks me up. Man those bloody Marys were good. I should go there again. What was it called? Crazy Pete’s, or something? Whatever.
The heavy golden doors open into Alex’s hallway. I’m feeling out of place. It is so clean, so nice in here and I’m soaked, drunk, and here to try to weasel another boatload of cash from the owner’s daughter. Maybe I didn’t think this through. Nah, I’m here. Maybe she’ll be… Alex opens her apartment door, revealing a red dress and a pair of legs.
“Vick.”
“Alex. Wow. It’s, umm, nice to see you, too. I wanted to…”
“I only have a few minutes, Professor, please come in. Quickly now. We should talk.”
She shows me in. As usual, it’s cleaner than a surgical room. Her bedroom door is open, same as her office. The closet with the six on the door and the storage room are both closed. There is red wine on the table and a plate of half-eaten cheese and crackers.
“Come in, come in.” She pauses, troubled. “My God, Professor, you’re soaked!”
“Yeah, it’s a long story.” I wonder what I must smell like.
“You must be freezing!” She looks worried, frantic even. Like a mother concerned about her pup with the flu. She whisks into the bathroom and reappears with a thick towel. She wraps it around me. It’s warm and feels softer than any towel I’d ever touched.
“Thank you. This is wonderful.” I pull the towel tightl
y against my body. She grabs an empty glass and fills it with wine. She tilts the bottle in my direction and offers it to me. I happily accept. Why not? I’m not driving.
“Have you accepted my offer, Vick?” She sits on a stool with her legs spread ever so slightly, revealing the tip of a shadowed lace garter set.
“I want to discuss our previous arrangement. I’m not comfortable with…” She stopped me by raising a hand in the air. She clapped her legs together and stood.
“Vick. I don’t ever want to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.” Her hand moves to my cheek. Was she always this touchy-feely? Or am I hammered?
“Yeah, about that…”
Drunk or not, I remember that she has a fetish for interruption. She places her finger to my lips. “Shhhh, Vick…” Her finger slides from my lips to my chin and continues to my hand. “What are you comfortable with, Vick? Your feelings are number one.”
“I’m willing to give it another shot, but not…” I raise a pair of fingers into air-quotes — “directly. It… it feels wrong. I’m married, and I think…”
Her lips stop everything. Fluffy pillows of sensuality against me. My eyes widen and I feel the burning desire to rip her clothes off and fuck her on the counter. Not for a stupid sample, but to satisfy this drunken lust. The angel and devil on my shoulder are arguing again. Her tongue slips between my teeth. Delicate and moist, it dances and flicks. My groin stiffens against my wet boxers.
The angel wins and he is just as surprised as I am. I push her back, snapping us from this trance. Alex blinks, confused and a bit disappointed. I wipe her from my lips with a wet sleeve.
“I’m sorry, Alex. I… I can’t do this.”
I need to leave. Holy shit, do I ever. This has become something it shouldn’t. It’s gone too far. What am I doing? Fuck! Wait, what was she doing? I need to leave. This is… this is… it’s too much to handle. I need to deal with Kraya before I go off and start an affair with the rich girl next-door. Oh shit. Kraya! I almost forgot she’s sitting in a cell somewhere. Before you start feeling all sad, remember she almost killed your son, dude, remember? Fuck. Fuck. I remember now. I need more booze. I need to leave, and I need more booze.
No words, I turn to head toward the door. We can discuss this another day. A warmer, less rainy, sober day. I hear it then. A high-pitched squealing sound that tears into my guts. I feel it in the deepest pit of my stomach. I hate this sound.
I turn to Alex who’s sagged herself over the counter, crying into a napkin. She pauses, slams the wine, takes a few rushed, double breaths, and cries again.
“Go. Just… just go!” she’s yelling from behind a napkin. Mascara streaming down her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry. It’s not you. Really. I just can’t do it. I’m still married,” I say as I point to my ring.
She looks up from her slouch. “I’ve put so much pressure on you. (Sniffle) Hell, I put too much pressure on me. I wanted that baby so bad…” She cries again. My feet carry me to her without thinking. I wrap a consoling arm around her and try to hug her pain away.
“Just go, Vick. It’s never going to happen for me. I need to accept it!”
Warm tears melt into my wet shirt. I hold her tightly. Her back rises and falls with stuttered, sobbing breaths. I push her head into my neck and I whisper, “It’s all going to be okay, Alex. I’m not going anywhere yet. It’s not over. I can try again as many times as it takes…” A woman’s cry is my Achilles heel, my kryptonite. Fuckin’ sucks when the tear train starts thundering down the line.
“You’ll keep trying?” Vulnerable, wet eyes emerge. She looks young. Innocent. Something I hadn’t seen in her. She wipes her cheek, smudging a long line of makeup across her face.
“Of course I’ll keep helping…” Please stop crying. For fucks sake, woman, please stop crying. I pull her closer, partly because I’m a nice guy, and mostly because I can feel her warmth through these cold-ass clothes. Her head, just moments ago buried in my chest, glides slowly to my face. She’s smiling, with glistening cheeks and innocence in her eyes as she pushes her lips into mine again.
Chapter Fifty-One
Soft lips join. It’s deliberate and gentle. It feels good to feel something. I’ll stop it, I need to stop it. But not yet. Not quite yet. It feels good and I haven’t felt this good in a long time. We didn’t move, our lips frozen together. I feel a warm tear drop from her nose to my cheek.
My marriage is in shambles. What else do I have to lose? Fuck it.
Her petite frame is light and easy to grip. I wrap my hand around her neck, pulling her mouth into mine. Sliding tongues slither and play as aggressive fingertips scratched my skin. I slid my hands down her back, skin mesmerizingly taut and smooth.
My mind is busy — What are you doing? Whoa, hold on, cowboy! I need to stop this before it goes too far! I pull back and our eyes flicker. Her hand wraps around my wrist, guiding it between her legs through the spread of her dress. Radiating heat and silk panties meet my palm. My mouth parts, eyes widen. I couldn’t think straight. My finger pauses and quivers on the wet lips behind her panties. Seizing the opportunity, Alex slides her tongue back into my open mouth and uses her left hand to slip her panties to the side.
Slick, warm folds grip my finger as it glides inside her. I’m out of focus, in a dream I can’t control. Too many lonely nights and fantasies, fantasies about her. I feel myself harden as she grabs my bulge from outside my pants. Her slit pulses on my finger as it slides in and out. She stands unexpectedly, popping my wet finger from inside her.
She takes a gentle step back, beaming. A tan, fragile arm slides the strap of her dress from a delicate shoulder. The dress slinks to the floor with a hushed thud. Her hand on mine again, dragging me into the bedroom.
I should stop, it’s not too late. C’mon! Wake up, dude! You need to… I slump to the bed and she is on me, sitting on my lap before I can make an objection. An objection I wanted to make so badly that I said nothing. I feel writhing against my groin, sliding her smooth panties back and forth on my pants. My hands cup her breasts and she gently nibbles my ear.
My zipper slips down, replaced with a slithering hand. Skin and fingers slide tenderly on my bare shaft. Rhythmic palms sliding, up and down my guy. Alex whispers in my ear. I can’t hear her, but I can feel her breath. She kisses me again. More tongue. More aggressive. She pulls my sticky, wet shirt from my back. Chills along my skin as the cool air hits the moisture. Her breasts meet my mine and heat blossoms from tits to chest.
I kissed her back, slipping her the sloppy drunk passion I’d been craving for too many nights. She’s making little noises now. Those sexy, high-pitched noises that erupt involuntarily when you flick a nipple or suck on a finger in just the right way. Angry legs see-saw my pants from side to side, finally freeing them from my waistline. Wet boxers slide down my legs. I follow, yanking her panties past her thighs. Small, dainty, stretchy things that flick off in a snap.
She’s above me, draping shoots of hair on my face. Her hand still gripping my girth, aims me into position. She lifts herself and presses her gap against me. I enter, but just the tip. A smooth, tight pleasure from the tippy-top. She lifts herself again and slides back down — more this time. She is silky and snug and keeps pressing farther. Past my head now, she kisses me, lifting her waist and pushing back down again. Her elastic grips me like a fist. I plunge the last piece of me into her wetness.
Pressure is building. Her breasts are bouncing slowly with the rise and fall of her body. I close my eyes. Smells of sex and perfume fill my nose. We’re inside each other, her tongue in my mouth, my dick buried inside her. I focus on the rhythmic pleasure, her creamy padding cradling my prick. Up and down. Back and forth. More pressure is building. I’m getting closer. Her lips touch my ear again. I can hear the whisper this time. She’s almost there. She rocks faster, grinding against my pelvis. Throbbing, I clench my fists and hold myself back for another few moments until I hear her say those two, magical words again. S
he screams it, digging fingernails into my chest. “I’m cumming!”
I erupt into pleasure as her walls clench around me. We tighten, holding each other closely as our bodies burst and spasm. Moaning — some mine, some hers. I feel her dripping down my shaft as the sweeping endorphins and sparks begin to fade.
Exhausted and quivering, she falls to my chest. I feel her breathing against my stomach. I’m out of breath, too. We’re slick with sweat and wet. The apartment is quiet again. I hear only our heavy breathing and a few sirens in the distance.
Chapter Fifty-two
My phone buzzed from somewhere nearby. I grabbed for it, but miss the table. I tried again, waving my hand blindly to find the damn thing with no avail. I opened one eye and realized the table is not there. Nor was I sleeping on my futon. Both eyes open then, revealing the serene bedroom of Alexa Livingston.
Hole-leeeeeeee shit. Memories flash and suddenly I remembered everything from last night. Kraya. The accident. Heroin. The bars. The booze. More booze. Even more booze, and then… Fuck!
I sat up to find I was still naked under the fluffy white comforter and assault of endless pillows. Alex was nowhere to be found, thank God. I wouldn’t know what to say. I grabbed my phone from a side table that was farther away and taller than mine at home. I unlocked the screen and found several new messages.
Text message from Rob: “Hey, dude. I checked on Junior for you. He’s fine. He is going to stay with your sitter.”
Next text message from Rob: “What happened to you last night?”
Yet another text message from Rob: “Yo! Call me when you can. We still need to get bail figured out, like, this morning.”
I swiped them away and checked for other messages. Nothing important. I found nothing but a headache that won’t quit and a full bladder. My clothes were nowhere to be found — awesome. I found a bath towel on the floor that was probably used to clean up God-knows-what, wrapped it around my waist, and started exploring. I pushed her bedroom door open slowly and saw a narrow table sitting outside the door. On the table: a stack of clothes and an envelope, next to a thermos and a bottle of water. I opened the envelope.