by Deena Ward
My breasts began to tingle and I sighed when I thought of how he had never touched my breasts. I longed for his touch.
That wasn’t wrong. It couldn’t be wrong.
I could continue berating myself, or I could just own what I had done the night before. I could take the tryst in the hallway as a sort of coming out. Look at what I was capable of feeling. I hadn’t known a real orgasm until The Businessman shattered me into pieces. It was luck, maybe fate, that I should learn this new thing on the night of my coming out.
My time in that shadowy hallway was gone. Over and done with. No more worries and definitely no more guilt. I owned my sexuality. It belonged to me, and it was separate from what I had believed about right and wrong. It simply was.
That night, I dreamed of The Businessman.
Chapter 3
“I’ll let you go if that’s what you want.”
While I was at work, while I was shopping, while I was having a drink with a friend, while I was driving, and especially when I was sleeping, I would hear him, his deep voice in my ear, the warmth of his breath tickling me, his hard chest an iron shield against my back.
“I’ll let you go if that’s what you want.”
And I would be in that hall again, with him, and I’d remember the feel of his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin on the undersides of my arms. Or I’d remember his hands slipping beneath the edges of my panties. Or the smack of his palm on my ass.
It’s a good thing that I’m not a surgeon or an air traffic controller. I’m an office manager for a mid-sized cosmetics company, so my distractions over the next week didn’t cause any horrific accidents of a lasting kind. Okay, so I forgot to tell our western regional sales team that we would be meeting on Thursday instead of Wednesday. Could have been worse. I could have amputated a wrong leg or sent a plane hurtling into the river. A disgruntled sales crew was nothing compared to that.
All the same, I take my job seriously, as I should, and tried hard to focus and do my best. I tried to push back the memories. Get on with things. Forget.
By the time Saturday rolled back around, it had become obvious that I wasn’t going to forget my encounter with The Businessman. The other man I had met that night, Kevin, had called and asked me out on a date, but I had told him no. I couldn’t think of anyone but The Businessman.
I had relived my tryst with him countless times. I began to fantasize about a second encounter with him. I kept thinking about how we hadn’t even actually had sex. He was a man. He would want sex, right? All men wanted sex.
Not that it mattered whether he did or did not want sex. I didn’t know his name, let alone his phone number.
To keep myself busy I decided to clean out my closet and organize the shelves. When I found the purse I had carried to the bar the week before, I opened it to get out the few cosmetics I hadn’t bothered to put away that night. I pulled out a lipstick and some mascara and a pen and back in the corner a ... what was this? My hand closed around some soft fabric. I pulled it out.
It was The Businessman’s tie.
Really.
I stood there are stared at it like it was some foreign thing hanging there in my hand, as if I didn’t know what it was, some specimen of unknown origin.
But of course, I knew its origin. It belonged to The Businessman. He must have put it in my purse before he returned it to me and I hadn’t noticed.
I studied this physical evidence of Eros. The tie was a dark blue silk, with a deeper shade in diagonal stripes. It felt slinky and cool in my hand. I checked the label. Some Italian name I wasn’t familiar with, but that wasn’t surprising since my husband never had a reason to wear ties when he was lying around on the couch.
There was nothing on the tie to indicate the name of the owner. Damn.
So why had he left this thing for me?
Perhaps it was meant to be a memento, a little something for me to remember him by. Or perhaps it was his calling card which he left for all the women of his hallway dalliances, his slashed “Z” for Zorro. If so, his conceit verged on the ridiculous.
No, I couldn’t believe that was it. I didn’t know who this man was, but I could not believe he was ridiculous.
In the mindless way we can do things, I raised the tie to my nose and inhaled. It still smelled like him, the spicy scent of him, masculine and clean. I could feel him in that scent, surrounding me and looming over me in the shadows. His voice, the deep rumble coming from behind me.
And I remembered something he had said.
“Our kind will always find one another.”
I had thought he would take me when he said that. But he hadn’t. And I hadn’t understood why not. He had such intensity in his eyes, in his words, as if he meant more than he was saying. He wanted me to remember his words.
Then suddenly I understood what he meant. And I understood why he left his tie in my purse.
He wanted me to find him.
I held the tie to my nose and breathed in his scent. It was like a time machine delivering me back to the minutes I had spent with The Businessman. I still wasn’t sure what he meant when he had said “our kind,” but I definitely knew he wanted me to find him.
Funny how an entire week of trying to forget him was immediately trumped by one millisecond of the idea that he wanted to be with me. If I had known his name and number, I would have called him right away.
I decided that the only thing I could think to do was to return to the bar and see if he might be there. Lots of people have favorite hangouts and maybe that bar was his. I had no other clues and if he did indeed want to see me again, then he had to know that the only lead I had was the bar.
It was still early enough in the evening that I had plenty of time to primp myself to within an inch of my life. Silly, I thought. I did it anyway. Hair shining and hanging loose down my back (all the better for him to grab it), minimal makeup (no one looks good in raccoon eyes), sexy lacy bra and panties (not my most expensive, should they be torn from my body again, and please let them be torn from my body again), a silky blouse, a fairly short skirt and a decent pair of heels. This was the best I had to offer. It would have to do.
The bar was already pretty full when I arrived, but I found a barstool to perch on that claimed a decent view of the room. I carefully scanned every nook and cranny of the place while I waited for the bartender to fill my drink order.
The Businessman wasn’t there. I tried not to get too disappointed. Whenever I thought of seeing him again, I got a flutter low in my belly. What would I say when I saw him? What if I was wrong about him wanting me to find him? Hell.
An hour later I still hadn’t seen him, though I had fended off a handful of soused suitors looking to provide me with drinks and a quick roll in the hay. They kept filling the empty seat next to me. Bothersome. I was relieved when, after sending away a particularly drunken young car salesman, a woman sat next to me.
She smiled at me and I smiled back. She was a lovely thing, small and dainty, with long blonde hair and a pixie-like face. She wore a pink slip of a dress that showed off her lithe figure. I might have been jealous if it hadn’t been for her easy smile and welcoming manner.
She said her name was Lilly and that she had been waiting on a date at the restaurant next door but that he had stood her up. I couldn’t imagine what kind of man would stand up this little jewel of a woman, and I said something along those lines. Lilly laughed..
We chatted for a while about men being scumbags, etc., the things we women say to each other when we believe we’ve been rejected. Lilly was a pleasant companion and kept the drunks at bay with a minimal fuss. She had an excellent derisive stare that sent them all scrambling away within half a minute. I nearly laughed the first time I saw it.
All the while, I kept scanning the room, seeking out my dark-haired stranger to no avail.
After a couple of drinks, Lilly became more and more talkative. She told me about a nightclub she had once visited with the man who had stood her up t
his very evening.
She said, in a lowered voice as if she were telling a secret, “It was a really crazy place. All sorts of things were going on.”
“What kind of things?” I asked.
“You know,” she made a funny face, “sex things.”
“Really? Sex things? Like ...”
“I think it was a sex club. You’ve heard of those, right? I think people go there to hook up and have sex.”
“No,” I scoffed. “Those places aren’t real ... are they?”
“I think they are. And I think some kinky stuff was going down in the back rooms,” she waggled her eyebrows comically.
“Hmm,” was all I could think to say.
“I didn’t actually see anything, though,” Lilly continued. “I just suspect it because of what some of the people were wearing.”
“Such as?”
“You know, leather, corsets, that sort of thing.”
“Maybe it was just some kind of Goth bar.”
“I don’t think so,” she murmured, and looked down at her drink. “I’ve been thinking about that place a lot, and I’d kind of like to go back, you know, to see if I’m right.”
Well I’ll be damned, I thought to myself. Lilly does not look like the kinky type. But who knows. I didn’t think I was the kinky type either until I met The Businessman.
“Listen,” Lilly said, “you seem like a nice girl and I like you even though I just met you. I don’t have any friends that I could ask to go with me to that place. Do you think you might ...”
Her voice trailed away in a hopeful fashion and she gave me a little smile.
“Do you want me to go with you to a sex club?” I asked.
“Well, now, I don’t know for sure that it’s a sex club. I don’t want to get your hopes up or anything.” She laughed then said, “Really, though, maybe you’re right and it’s just some Goth hangout. But it might be fun to check it out, you know, and it’s not like there’s anything happening here.”
I couldn’t argue with her about that. It was nearly 10:30 and I hadn’t seen a trace of The Businessman. Maybe he only came on Fridays. Who knew. I had even been hoping I might catch sight of the older man he had been chatting with, but I hadn’t seen him either.
I came out tonight seeking a tryst with a dark, handsome stranger. I didn’t find him. Maybe the next logical step was a trip to a sex club. Ha! Liar, liar. I wanted to see a sex club, if that’s what it was.
Lilly’s hopeful smile and her cute pixie face sealed the deal for me.
“Okay,” I said. “What the hell.” At least it would take my mind off of how I was going to find The Businessman, and it might make a good story the next time I talked to my girlfriends.
We paid our tabs and lucked into getting a cab within a few minutes. Less than twenty minutes later we stood outside the alleged sex club.
Cars lined the sidewalks on either side of the street. In front of us was a huge brick building that ran nearly the entire length of the block, the building’s many tall windows stretching in a regular line down the wall. All the windows were blacked out. The place looked like an old factory from the early 1900s.
Probably, it housed multiple business, or maybe loft apartments, though all I could see was a single black door with a lone light hanging over it. On the door a small sign said “Private Residence.” Nothing indicated this was anything resembling a night club.
I gave Lilly a look and said, “Are you sure this is the place?”
“Definitely,” she said. “Did you expect it to say ‘Sex Club?’”
I laughed. I didn’t have any idea what to expect.
Lilly took my hand and pulled me to the door. “I think it’s supposed to be a joke, the name, you know. Come on.”
She opened the door and we entered a small, well-lit foyer. The lack of exterior signs was more than compensated for with all the signs that lined the walls of the foyer. I had no time to study them, but mostly they were about being 21 years old and the usual sort of warnings clubs post. I think one sign had a list of rules perhaps, but I didn’t get the chance to read it.
A big muscular man, clearly of the bouncer variety, lounged on a raised stool near another closed black door at the back of the foyer. Now that I was inside, I could hear some strains of music coming from beyond the door, particularly the thump of the bass.
“Good evening ladies,” said the man. “Just the two of you tonight?”
Lilly beamed her pixie smile. “That’s right.”
He waved toward the door and said, “Go ahead,” then went back to reading his weightlifting magazine.
We went through the door and into another short foyer, this time dimly lit. Probably it was designed to keep the strong light from the entrance from spoiling the lighting in the club. Sure enough, this next door opened into the club itself.
It was large. And pretty loud, with a good-sized crowd. Basically, it looked like any run-of-the-mill dance club. Lights flashed and music pulsed. There was a long shiny bar that ran the length of one side of the room. A big dance floor was ringed with tables and chairs. High-backed round booths settled against the remaining walls. Stairs led to a second story that was a balcony of sorts looking down onto the dance floor below.
It smelled like beer and whiskey, of money being handled by sweaty hands, the overbearing force of the combination of too many different heavy-handed sprays of perfume, the scent of the sexual hunt.
In other words, it looked and smelled like your average night club, except for one thing -- the people.
Many of the people were dressed exactly as you would expect, decked out in their sexiest clothes for a night of partying. But in among these regular types were others who, as Lilly has said, were decked out in some pretty wild leather garb. Snug, studded leather pants. Corsets cinched so tightly I couldn’t imagine how the women, and a few men, managed to breathe. Short crop tops that gave peeks of the undersides of breasts. Latex dresses. Crazy high stiletto heels. Thigh-high shiny black boots. Some people had multiple piercings and wore thick collars around their necks.
And still, this could have just been a Goth thing, except that I could have sworn I saw a woman in the crowd, dressed in a corset, black panties, some kind of stockings ... I could have sworn I saw her moseying through the crowd leading a shirtless man by a leash that was hooked to what appeared to be nipple rings.
I’m not a prude, nor am I some innocent young woman who has had no experience in the big bad world. But I have never seen a man being led around on a leash other than on HBO. A leash attached to nipple rings. That was some serious motivation not to lag behind your leader.
Lilly pulled me on into the club and toward an empty booth. It was farther away from the dance floor and the speakers, and so was a bit quieter, allowing you to talk without yelling.
We ordered more drinks even though I didn’t think I really needed any more alcohol. We spent our time nursing our drinks while Lilly giggled some and pointed out a few bar patrons with particularly outrageous garb. Eventually, she pointed out an area in the back of the room that appeared to be a hallway. A sign over the entry proclaimed “VIP. No entry without invitation.”
Lilly said, “I think there are rooms back there where you know, they do stuff.” Her voice was too loud, I thought. She was getting way too tipsy.
A VIP area. Good grief. Lots of clubs have that. It’s nothing more than a scam to get shallow suckers to spend extra money. A VIP area was no proof at all that this was a sex club. Disappointing.
Now that the first excitement of possibility had worn off, I began to notice that we weren’t the only ones who were staring. We, in fact, were being stared at by the other club patrons. Some people simply glanced our way then quickly looked away. Some were rather rude and let their gazes linger on Lilly and me. I couldn’t tell exactly what their expressions were saying, but it was either a sort of “who the hell are these women trespassing on our turf,” or “yum, fresh meat.” Hard to say which.
; Lilly seemed to notice none of this. She chattered away about this and that, and how ooh, don’t you think those heels would give you bunions and so on. I half-listened.
Some of the looks we were getting had started to bother me, and I began to think about how I might need to slip out of there, either with or without Lilly, should it become necessary. Fresh meat. That couldn’t be what those people were thinking. But if they were ... I should not have been feeling the beginnings of what ... the beginnings of anticipation. A growing excitement. A desire to flee. A desire to stay.
The colored strobes of the moving spotlights and the thumping underbeats of the dance music were acting on my senses, making me feel connected somehow, connected to the pace of the club. And sexy. I felt connected and sexy. What the hell. Of course that’s how I would feel. These places were designed to seduce. To make you want to dance and flirt and rub against someone.
I knew I had drunk one cocktail too many.
A tall man approached our table. I elbowed Lilly and told her to shoot him her best fuck-off stare. She began to do just that, but when she looked at him, she suddenly stopped, her face blanked for a moment, then followed an instant of something else, awareness or maybe fear. No, not fear. What was that? Anyway, she didn’t give him her fuck-off stare and so he strolled on up to our table.
He was good-looking, in a fierce sort of way, with a long lean body. I would guess he was in his early-30s, close to my age. He wasn’t wearing leather, sporting instead a black, lightweight shirt that was probably woven from some kind of natural fiber. The collar of his shirt was open and he had rolled up the sleeves to just below his elbows. The shirt was tucked sloppily into a pair of dark, well-fitted jeans.
He wore his black hair in a longer style, most of it pushed behind his ears, the ends curling where they hit his shoulders. He made me think of a hot continental playboy. I expected him to have an accent when he spoke. Turned out, he didn’t. Just a plain old American accent.
