I dropped my stuff on the sidewalk - including a host of anxieties - and wrapped both my arms around his neck. “Monsieur Chastenet, I will join you in your adventure.”
“Mademoiselle, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship.” And, he kissed me on the nose.
Cameo on Fire
“I’ve always wondered how you got your name.” Batman brushed her breast as she passed through the elevator door on the fourth floor of the Chicago hotel.
Cameo didn’t know whether the touching was intentional, hoping it was, but worrying that she might not be able to control the next time period. This was the decisive moment that deer choose fight or flight. Which should she do? “I always wondered too. About your name.”
“I know,” he replied, following her down the hallway. “I’m always asked.”
“Why are hotel hallways so damned stuffy?” Hers wasn’t a question. Just a place-holder to avoid a freighted silence. Uppermost in her mind was curiosity as to where Batman would touch her next. Her cheek? Her hair? If he took her arm, would it be above the elbow, signifying possession?
“Amos Alonzo Batman, but most people just call me The Batman. It’s Anglo-Saxon, referring to boat - bat.”
She used her card key to open the door, letting him follow. She heard the deadbolt click and the chain latch behind her. It offered both a reassuring feeling of security and a fear of entrapment. How wise was it to let a professional acquaintance and conference attendee into her room? She’d had three vodka martinis at dinner, matching his three Scotches.
As she tossed her handbag on the bureau, she announced, “There’s the mini bar if you want. Then we can get down to your notes for tomorrow’s session.”
Three years and three conferences on economics strengthened their acquaintance. Each day of each conference they shared more verbal intimacies and details of their other lives.
Instead of answering, Batman brought her around the face him and leaned down to press his mouth to hers. His tongue darted forward before she clamped her lips together in denial. He smelled of cologne and the boeuf bourguignon he’d ordered for dinner. Unconsciously, her hand went to his neck to pull him closer - momentarily - and then she pulled free. After three conferences over three years, he was finally doing what she believed he might if there was an opportunity.
“You smell nice, Amos. Now, can you find me some club soda in the bar? A Scotch for you?”
He put his arms around her and pulled her closer to his chest, then buried his nose in her neck. “Nice? I thought you might say attractive. And you were going to tell me how you got such a beautiful name.”
She felt him slip the red wool jacket from her shoulders, freeing her back to the breeze from the air conditioning. His hands slipped down to hoist her butt, pushing her loins tight against his. Unconsciously, she inhaled sharply. Yes, attractive. It had been over a decade since any man other than her husband had gotten this close to her body, or to her spiritual center.
She had another reason besides rehearsing Batman’s presentation for inviting him to her room. Objections had been voiced, loudly, after the workshop she led on government data collection. A wizened little functionary from the Census Bureau made a mindless dissection of her statistical methods. Amos Alonzo Batman had stood and totally shattered the old fellow’s arguments, making his point with wit that the government’s lack of data collection was like a tax collector with either a hole in his pocket or in his head.
Cameo could have shouted with joy. Amos Batman was urbane, handsome, funny. It was simply amazing that he wasn’t married. She had been rescued by this creature as fifty attendees saluted him - and her.
“I appreciated you saving me from old Wickham in the meeting.” There, a formal thank you. “I wouldn’t have been able....”
His hands came around to unbutton her creamy silk blouse, sliding over her breasts as they moved down. Amazing style, that he could stare into her eyes and manage the intricacies of removing her clothes. “The old fool was making me flustered....” She was breathing deeply and trying to make her thoughts follow an orderly procession.
“Amos, can we stop and talk for a moment?” Her words came out in a whisper, a plea that she knew he wouldn’t heed. If only her chest would stop heaving!
“That table light is distracting,” he said. “I’m going to turn it off and let Chicago’s street lights serve as illumination. You, just sit on the bed while I take off my coat and tie.”
Dutifully, she did as told, wishing there was a script she could follow for this event. Was it a one-act play? The first step on a journey into a new world? There was no way to tell, except to let cause and effect unfold of its own accord. Her fingers went to her black pencil skirt, unhooking it in the semi-darkness and laying it on the chair. She shivered in modesty, sitting in bra and panties. She kicked off her high heels, since they made her feel naked, not “nude.”
Did a man enjoy being stared at as he shed clothes? Women did. Batman was good-looking, but not an exhibitionist. She sat straight-backed, the way a mouse eyes a cat, watching Batman disrobe. His chest was covered with fine hair that arrowed down to his flat belly. As he dropped his boxer shorts, her eyes followed to his circumcised penis. It was a handsome thing, she thought.
Thank God he wasn’t perfect. It gave her confidence to see a mole the size of a quarter on his shoulder. This was part of why he supervised two hundred people in Denver. He was both successful and likable. Those qualities worked in inverse proportion for a woman, who could choose one or the other. Perhaps she was marginally beautiful and potentially successful.
As she unhooked her bra she wondered nervously whether he’d think her breasts were too small. Her stomach flaccid rather than taut. Her 34-year-old body skinny instead of being as lithe as when she’d played varsity basketball at Georgetown. It made her want to weep, that she was a suburban mom and a statistical numbers-cruncher. No more the hot chick of the campus. The past was gone and could never be regained.
She hoisted her butt and scrunched her panties down to the floor.
Amos kneeled at her feet. “You are so beautiful. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you today. I’ve anticipated this conference - and you - for weeks, hoping that...,”
“Shut up and hold me, loudmouth.” She grabbed his ears and pulled him to her breasts. All men lie. He was probably lying about the beauty part, else why wasn’t she more successful? His mouth closed on her left nipple and he began sucking like a child, but no child used his fingers to dig into the bush between her legs. A finger parted her labia and touched the nerve endings of her clitoris.
Cameo gave a little puff of air in surprise. It had been years since her husband had touched her there or explored the damp opening to her inner desires. “Oh, my Batman,” she sighed.
Gently, he lay her back and covered her long torso with his. “You’re so warm,” he murmured. “Wish I had you on cold Denver nights. To wrap your legs around my freezing ears.”
“Pretend it’s January,” she whispered in his ear. “The weather outside is blowing, let it snow, let it snow...”
He twisted around her and buried his head between her legs. She felt his nose part the hair on her pudendum like a small animal looking for a burrow, and then his tongue groped into her pussy, searching for her clit. An involuntary Oooohh escaped her lips. She was being invaded in a way she had never imagined. Years of going to her office in Washington, wearing dark suits, appearing serious and professional - it all fell away as the Batman suckled her most tender part. Did she dare use her hands or mouth to gratify him?
In order to regain some control, Cameo dredged up snippets of econometric data on wages and unemployment, imagined a desk with her papers neatly arranged, a report that was due upon her return home.
It was no use! The tongue of this man lying across her belly and penetrating deep into her vagina t
hreatened any rational thought.
“Oh, now!” she called down. “Stop!” She pulled at a well-muscled shoulder, slowly drawing him up to her chest. It was no time for risk analysis. She was nothing more than a hungry woman in a strange city wanting this man - this professional acquaintance - to possess her entirely.
“I need you now. Do what I need you to do right now.” It was the instruction that moved him to cover her breasts with his chest, place one hand under her hips and use the other to guide himself into her wet opening.
With her eyes squeezed tight, she felt him part her pussy and begin to probe. She shifted her hips, lifting them with an arched back that willed him to enter her with his stiff cock. Tentatively, and then with growing force, she felt him thrust upward and work his way into her slippery vagina. There was no going back now, no place to run or hide.
The pressure grew pleasantly, as though her rewards were finally accruing. The spiritual pain of coming home tired, having to make dinner, counsel an angry six-year-old, and then watch in frustration as they disappeared to watch TV. Where had the personal rewards been? In the occasional anniversary dinner, a birthday party to mark the loss of another year? She demanded a modicum of physical fulfillment and her Batman was going to give it to her.
Cameo inhaled deeply and used her fingernails to pull him deeper inside her, to let him reach her womb, her stomach, her heart if he could. She would open her guts for one night in order to experience an orgasm she could build a memoir around.
She raised her knees, inviting him deeper, and then her long legs rose like bookends over his hips as he drove faster with a machine-like rhythm. A hoarse panting in her ear told her the Batman was ready to come. Sweat lubricated their moving bodies as they slid against each other like dolphins mating in a silken sea. She matched his strokes with her thumping thighs, giving up little gasps in counterpoint to his rough breaths.
From somewhere in the past, back to a dim recollection of lovers she’d known years ago, a feeling rose to kidnap her nerves. It grew from her guts and expanded along every nerve, making her skin a panel of electricity. She was climaxing with every fiber of her body. Her brain became a vestigial organ dumped on the ash heap of evolution. A college degree and a Master’s in economics disappeared with a poof as her synapses began firing.
She erupted with an animal-like cry, letting the spasm engulf her body in an epileptic rigidity. Two seconds later, she felt her Batman ejaculate in a movement that lifted her hips off the bed. She was flying!
Then quiet descended on the room. A wetness filled Cameo’s eyes. Tears leaked out under her lashes.
“Times like this I’m sorry I gave up smoking.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Glad I didn’t.”
“Really? You have cigarettes?”
“This is a no smoking room,” he cautioned.
“They all are. We’ll just flush the butts down the toilet.”
“Do you want me to pull out? Go wash up?”
“Not yet,” she said. “You’re still big inside me. I like it.”
He seemed reluctant to stay, slowly withdrew from her, and got up to go into the bathroom. She followed and withdrew a cigarette from his pack on the sink. He stood at the sink washing off, his cigarette dangling lazily from his mouth.
She lowered herself onto the commode and let her bladder go, inhaling deeply on the smoke and listening to the tinkling in the toilet. She raised her eyes. As Batman toweled himself dry, he stared back at Cameo.
“I’ve never had a man watch me pee,” she said. It was a statement of fact, and didn’t discomfort her. “Not my husband, my child, any man.” What was it about a woman peeing that seemed such a taboo? That she didn’t have an appendage able to soak a brick wall or tree trunk? That she couldn’t display a swinging dick? For a woman, it was a curious human situation that categorized men as the aggressive seed-implanter and woman as the receptive vessel waiting for some magic sperm to be buried in her body.
She took toilet paper and wiped between her legs.
“Actually, women are beautiful in their complexity,” he admitted, as if reading her thoughts. “All those intricacies of plumbing. I know God wasn’t an engineer or he wouldn’t have placed a septic system right next to a recreation area.”
“Is that a joke?” Batman’s humor evaded her, as in his luncheon repartee the day before. She overheard him describe a blonde in a high school civics class. “What’s Roe vs. Wade mean?” the teacher asked, and the girl replied, “It was George Washington’s choice before he crossed the Delaware.” Cameo thought it was a cute play on words, but not funny ha ha.
“Shower?” he asked, and she nodded.
The water was washing away all of her thoughts and intellectual processes as she relished the hot wetness and the closeness of Batman’s body. She closed her eyes, wondering what hard wiring or nurture had made her embrace mathematics. It gave her great joy to see numbers add up to deliver a precise solution to a problem. There was elegance in economic data that provided enlightenment to a social issue. Perhaps she would have been content to be an old maid if she hadn’t met her husband, had a child, and molded a comfortable life in an almost-paid-for home.
“Are you sleeping on your feet?” He grasped her around the waist and pulled her to his stomach.
“Making believe I’m on an island. St. Thomas in the Caribbean.”
“With a man who needs to make love? A cannibal?”
There was that terrible humor again. “Are you going to eat me?” she murmured, smiling and opening her eyes to him.
“Get down on your knees.” It was an order, not a suggestion.
“But, my hair. I never....”
“First time for everything.” He pressed down on her shoulders.
“Amos! I don’t think....” But she kneeled, letting the waterfall strike her back.
Again, he encircled her waist and let his other hand guide his cock into her vulva. She was still slippery and he slid inside easily and - she marveled - so deeply! Of course, she knew there were thousands of coital positions - think of all those Hindus! - but for the decade of her marriage there had been only the missionary position to fulfillment.
He began shoving his hips against her buns, rocking her forward. Her head almost banged the bottom of the tub with his pumping, her hair flowing in a dark wave over her face, pendulous breasts swinging free. It was the hunter impaling the prey on his big horn. Truly, she was being fucked in a way she had never known. Batman’s rhythm inside her vagina and the hot water cascading down on them created a syncopation that made Cameo float into a dream world.
Suddenly, his hands grasped both her breasts, too tightly for comfort, and she knew he was about to climax inside her womb again. A small thought - thank God for birth control - came and vanished in a second as a great gob of sperm shot into her. Then the pressure of his hands pinching her nipples gave way to a sensation of seeing Heaven so close, so close that it was within her reach. The gates opened then and an orgasm gripped her in its spasm. Her head rose and she nearly lost her balance.
“Careful, Cameo. Hold on,” he said softly as his small spasms continued to erupt inside her.
“Oooh, that was so marvelous.” Was that her voice or had she hallucinated? Two climaxes in an hour!
Afterwards, they shared one more cigarette, sitting naked on the edge of the tub and occasionally touching each other as she dried her hair.
“So, okay, why were you named Cameo?”
She shrugged. “Should be obvious. After the jewelry. My grandmother thought I resembled the face on a cameo ring she had lost. I once was lost and now am found. Lyrics in ‘Amazing Grace.’”
“A cameo is a study in contrasts,” he offered, resting a hand on her thigh, his fingers riding the crease where leg met hip. “Smooth ebony and carved ivory. White on black.�
�
She grimaced. “Old fashioned stuff grandmothers wore.”
“Cameo, I want to see you again. If I took a few days and came to Washington....”
She shook her head violently. “I can’t see you. I have a home and husband and child.”
“How else can I let you know I’m falling in love?”
It must be close to two o’clock in the morning, she thought. There was another plenary session at nine, and then the conference attendees would scatter to the train station or out to O’Hare and Midway. Each would return to their separate realities.
“Facebook, e-mail, text messaging. There’re ways we can communicate so no one will ever know.”
“Don’t even think of it!” She threw the cigarette into the commode.
“A photo. Let me take a picture of you just like this.”
“Never!”
Batman’s lip turned down petulantly.
“Don’t you understand?” she asked. Her head dropped to his shoulder. “You’ve given me more happiness in an evening than I’ve been allowed in years. For a few moments I touched Heaven tonight. I once was lost and now am found. Now, we have to go back to our humdrum lives.”
“Then, it’s so long until next year?”
“Yes, my dear, darling Batman. Till next year.” And her face glowed with anticipation.
He touched the red fingerprints on her breasts. “Don’t let anyone else see your wounds. Those are my marks. Those breasts are mine. And your lips and your cunt. I own them and you have to return them to me.”
“Finders keepers. You found me, so that makes me yours.”
Darcy Defines Determination
Darcy McManus snapped her red, boiled-wool jacket over her breasts and churning stomach, inhaled deeply and strode into her boss’s office. It was her first one-on-one visit on her first day at her new position and she was determined to make a good impression as the communications director. She would jump start the corporation’s program with her promotion from the direct production subsidiary.
Executive Sweetie Page 2
