The Pickup Line

by Louisa Trent

  “Why are you still dressed, sir?”

  He tightened the knot in his tie. “Because I'm the man and you're the woman. In sex fantasies, men always get to stay dressed and ladies are always naked. It's the dominant thing.” He paused, mumbled. “At least in the dirty books I read the men get to stay dressed.”

  “You read erotica?”

  “Not really read. And they're not really books. Magazines. And no, I don't buy them for the articles. I get them strictly for the pics. You know the ones I mean.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do I look at the dirty pictures?”

  “Yes, why?”

  This conversation was damn embarrassing, but if it kept them from getting their naked butts busted, it was worth it.

  “Inspiration. For private moments.”

  She looked at him like she didn't get what he was getting at.

  He sighed. Again. He was doing a lot of that lately. “For when I jerk off in the bathroom. That kind of inspiration. Okay?”

  Her eyes widened. “Jerk off? But why? You're attractive and single and virile. You can get sex any time you want it.”

  Yeah, right.

  Showdown time. Time to get humbled. Time to drop whatever cool image he'd tried to project. He couldn't expect Blue to open up with him until he cut a vein and bled too.

  “I don't get sex any time I want it, or for that matter any time I'm climbing the walls for it because I don't do that sort of thing. I have an impressionable son. How can I teach him to respect women if I'm out screwing around all the time? I haven't had sex in over a year. Before then-” He shook his head dourly. “You don't want to know.”

  “Oh, but I do.”

  Getting arrested was looking good.

  He looked at the ceiling, dropped his eyes back to hers. Honesty could be a bitch at times.

  “Five years.”

  “What!”

  “I'm practically a monk, okay? Almost a celibate. Hence the dirty mags in the bathroom, and hence how come I know that in jack-off stories the man never walks around with his wood sticking out. Where's the dignity in that?”

  “If you ask me, you have too much dignity,” she pronounced. “Do your clothes ever get wrinkled?” she asked, flicking his tie until it was disordered.

  “Not often,” he admitted, patting the offending tie back in place.

  “I didn't think so. Too bad.”

  He didn't like talking about these kinds of things; he didn't like spilling his guts, didn't like opening up things to the light. Some things should stay private, locked away, never analyzed or discussed. Some things ran deep inside a man, made a man who he was, and who he could never be. But there was Blue needing more from him, maybe more than he could give her, so he had to go there, he had to talk about what made him who he was. Damn! Could he even put it into words? Did he even know himself?

  He took a deep breath; he figured he'd need it. “Blue, my parents were immigrants to this country, hard-working people, but we were sleep four-to-a-bed poor. Don't get me wrong, we kids were all loved, and that's something money can't buy, but in terms of things money can buy, there wasn't much to go around, and what there was, got sliced thin. In my family, dignity was all-important. So wasn't keeping a good name. As for clothes, I had one change, but the shirt and pants were always washed clean, patched neat and pressed dime-bouncing straight. When you've grown up near naked, playing at naked loses its appeal. Call me superficial, but I value the feel of nice clothes on my back. And I value respectability.”

  Blue's head lowered. “I had everything growing up. Enough clothes to open my own boutique. I've never had to do without anything. Maybe if I had, I would place more value on material possessions than I do. But I just don't. And I don't think a person needs to stay in control all the time.” She looked up, searched his face. “I want you to lose control, Lou. For me. Can you do that or is that just too unrespectable?”

  Blue hit an artery with the point of her knife and she sliced deep; his carotid was gushing a stream of red.

  The one thing, the only thing, he'd ever feared was the uncontrolled part of himself. And he didn't know if he could let go enough to show that uncivilized part of himself to her.

  But when she went for his fly, he went for anything he could reach, and letting go suddenly got a lot easier.

  Bunching the purple fabric in his hand, he drew it up to her waist and palmed her bare bottom. With a feverish groan, he went from palming her bottom to squeezing her bottom, and Blue was doing the same to his dick, which was now in her hand, cupped in her hand, then squeezed in her hand.

  Damn! Blue gave good hand. Must've come from her artistic pursuits.

  In an art gallery, surrounded by snooty patrons, hiding behind a giant replica of a penis, he wanted more than a hand job; he wanted into Blue, all the way into Blue, into the blue yonder of Blue. She was sky, and he was mud, but could a man stuck to the ground be blamed for wanting to fly just once in his life?

  “Fair is fair. You got me off on the pier, and again in my studio, now it's my turn to do you. That will make us even,” Blue said like the most impartial of referees and started to sink to her knees.

  Grabbing her by the elbow before she hit the floor, Lou pulled her close. “Not like we're hanging numbers on a scoreboard. Okay, Blue?”

  “I don't understand,” she said earnestly.

  Yeah, this he knew.

  And there was no time to explain that it wasn't about reciprocation, that he was honored just to touch her, because the world could only be kept at bay for so long, and that world was now moving in on them.

  Lou pressed his foot on the penile pump, and the giant dick inflated, creating a barrier between them and their curious audience.

  He said in a big booming voice, “So that's how it works. Thanks for showing it to me.”

  Blue blinked.

  From the twittering throng of spectators, Lou heard a familiar guffaw.

  Drawing Blue after him, Lou stepped around the now thrusting dick and faced his employer.

  Laughing boy Ruiz never broke a chuckle. “So, Lou, does this mean you're glad to see me, or are we still only friends?”

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER TEN

  While Blue looked on in bewilderment, Lou leaned into the very pregnant woman at the laughing man's side and bussed her cheek.

  And she knew then how Lou came by those smile brackets on either side of his sensual mouth; the smile he gave the expectant mother was big and genuine and lit up his eyes.

  “How you doing gorgeous?” he asked.

  “Very well, Lou, considering I'm in labor.”

  The laughing man sobered immediately; his olive-toned complexion grew pale. “L-l-labor? What do you mean you're in l-l-labor, Sera? You never said nothin’ about going into labor! Do you think it's the b-baby? Do you think the b-baby is coming?”

  “Generally speaking, that is what labor means. But don't worry, dear. This is our first so we'll have plenty of time to get to the hospital. At least enough time for Lou to introduce us to his friend.”

  “Sera Ruiz, I'd like you to meet Blue Heron,” Lou quickly supplied. “The joker is her husband, Tomas.”

  Blue stepped forward. Unless she was very much mistaken, the expectant mother was in some serious pain, but wasn't letting on because of her nervous husband. “Is there anything I can do, Sera?”

  “Aren't you sweet. But I think these things tend to take care of themselves.”

  “Oooh, I don't know if I can do this.” Tomas clutched at his wife's hand. “It's too soon. I'm just not ready.”

  “Remember what the mid-wife in the prenatal class told you, dear. There will be some discomfort, but after they put our baby in your arms you won't remember any of it.”

  “Oooh, I don't know-”

  “You'll do fine,” Sera soothed the strapping man. “Deep breaths now. In and out slowly. Don't give into panic. Just keep your eye on the focal point.”

  “
You're my focal point, Sera,” the muscular man wailed.

  “And I'm not going anywhere, am I?” Sera said patiently. “I'll be right with you the whole time.”

  “Promise, ruca?”

  “Yes, I promise.” Sera smiled serenely at them. “Please excuse my husband. It's his first baby, and he's a little tense.”

  The women exchanged knowing looks, femme to femme.

  “Tomas, we should probably leave now; the contractions are a little closer together,” said the mother-to-be.

  With a parting smile, as she led her husband away, Sera called back, “It was nice to meet you, Blue. Please stop by the old Monroe place for a visit.”

  “I'll do that,” Blue promised before remembering she was leaving Fenton.

  After the Ruiz's departure, Blue turned to Lou. “You know something? I think Sera will do just fine during labor and delivery. I'm not so sure about her husband. He looked a little wobbly on his feet.”

  “Tomas is a tough man, except when it comes to Sera.”

  “How do you know the Ruiz's?”

  “I'm years older than Tommie, but we grew up in the same neighborhood on the Southside. We still ... uh ... run into each other now and again.”

  “A baby,” Blue said, wistfully. “Just think, soon Tomas and Sera will be a family. That's truly a miracle.”

  “You want kids, Blue?”

  Simple question, complicated answer.

  She'd loved Gillian with all her heart, but she knew he would never give her babies. He wouldn't even discuss becoming a sperm donor for her. One day, when they had gone shopping together, he'd caught her in the children's department looking longingly at a pair of tiny crocheted booties. Gill told her then that if she wanted a baby she'd have to do it the old-fashioned way...

  “Yes, I want kids,” she replied. “Someday, I'd like a dozen or so.”

  Lou drew a finger down her jaw. “Remember I told you Tomas Ruiz owns The Pink Flamingo...?”

  “Ugh! Let's not spoil our evening discussing that horrid strip club, not when I have big plans for tonight. What do you say we go back to my hotel after this?”

  The finger on her jaw stilled. “Okay. But you're busy here with the show—there's a woman behind you who looks like she'll explode if you don't answer some of her questions—and I have something I need to do too. What do you say, I meet you there?”

  She knew Lou was right, and so reaching into her pocket, she drew out the extra plastic key card and pressed it into his hand.

  “Room 312,” she whispered, and then turned to the about to explode woman.

  * * * *

  Thinking Lou had gotten caught up in whatever it was he had to take care of and wouldn't be dropping by for a visit after all, Blue removed her lace robe. She was getting into bed when she heard the telltale click of the door opening.

  “Don't move,” a masculine voice ordered in the dark hotel room. “Stay just like that.”

  Just like that was naked, her knee raised to the coverlet.

  A loose tee-shirt was about as much as she ever wore to bed, and expecting Lou, tonight she hadn't even bothered with that nod to modesty. Why play coy, she'd reasoned, when what she wanted more than anything was her naked skin next to his naked skin in bed.

  A few footsteps and Lou was there behind her, his lips on her shoulder, his teeth nipping, his large hand capturing her small breast.

  When she turned her jaw, he took her lips, a thumb and finger delicately squeezing her pierced nipple.

  She moaned, “Harder!” into his mouth.

  He broke the kiss, to say, “Go easy with me, Blue. It's been awhile, you know? I'm not exactly a tiger.”

  Oh, but he was. She'd witnessed his wildcat ferocity on the pier. It was that uncivilized part of Lou that she wanted.

  His palm moved gently down her spine, from nape to the small of her back, “Do you like it in the dark or with the lights on?” he asked politely.

  “No lights, please.”

  His large hand cupped her bottom; a thumb skimmed the crevice. “You said you're adventurous, but is there anything you don't like done to you, anything you prefer men not to do?”

  Men. There was that plural again!

  She'd had only one lover, Jeremy, a very proper Brit. As to preferences—before Lou, she thought she preferred to control the encounters, she thought she preferred to take responsibility for her own climaxes, she thought she preferred the superior position. How wrong could a smart woman get?

  She shivered in expectancy of her total submission to Lou.

  And as he told her not to move, that shiver was the only move she made. “No. There's nothing I won't let you do.”

  Flanking her, he reached between her legs; her raised knee was still atop the bed. “You're wet.”

  “Since the line at Sprout's,” she confided, because it was the truth and she saw little point in playing the demur miss now.

  He didn't hurry to undress. His clothes weren't ripped off. They weren't scattered every which way. Each article was folded and placed neatly on the chair beside the bed.

  “Get up on the bed now. All fours,” he specified.

  Well, well, well. The wild beast in Lou was finally breaking free.

  He helped her up, then got up on the bed behind her, kneeling behind her, his groin to her buttocks, his penis, the head wide and moistened with pre-cum, butting the crevice between her cheeks. She'd never done anal, but Gillian had shared, and so she knew all about the ‘ouch factor'.

  Time to speak up or she wouldn't be able to sit down tomorrow.

  “I'm adventurous, Lou, but I still expect you to use lube for butt fucking.”

  He said sharply, “Don't use that word. I plan on making love to you.”

  Semantics!

  But he sounded so serious, so seriously sincere, that nerves made her say, “Hey, Lou, since were going the animal route, did you ever hear the bestiality joke about the farmer's daughter and the-”

  “Drop the comic act, Blue. It's not you.”

  She wanted to drop the act, but she didn't know if she could. Her defenses had served her long and well. Gillian had slipped underneath her radar, but he was the only one who ever had.

  “Don't think you know who I am, Lou, because you don't,” she said, woefully, fretfully, scared because, really, could she trust him? Oh, not with the sex. She knew he wouldn't hurt her, physically. But what about her already battered and bruised heart? Would he take as much care with her feelings as he would with her body?

  “You're right, Blue. We don't know one another, and that's the problem with going to bed too soon.” He started working her clit.

  She snorted. “Yeah, right. We should wait. Twelve hours or so would make all the difference in the world to our level of intimacy. Fuck, tomorrow, we'll be completing one another's thoughts and everything.” Just like she and Gillian used to do.

  Tears formed behind her eyes. “Lou, when you're making love to my ass, a little lube helps a lady out.”

  “You can forget about the anal stuff, my sexy pervert. I'm not even thinking kinky until we get up to speed on regular lovemaking.”

  So what were they doing?

  “Listen, Blue, I'm not trying to pull any domination trip on you here. I know this isn't the most romantic position for a woman to make love the first time with a new man, but when I fingered your vagina, you felt small to me. And then in your work studio, when you were up on the table, you looked small to me too. You saw my make. A rear-entry approach will make it easier for me to control the penetration, gauge the depth, so I don't hurt you,” he said, above the snap of a condom.

  Oh! That explained the doggie pose. She thought that maybe he hadn't wanted to make eye contact.

  Still, resenting that he was being so analytical when she couldn't reason at all, she snipped, “For your information, Lou, I don't feel dominated. And another thing: Who asked for romance? Not me. I told you I was horny. If you don't get it in here fast, I'll come without you just to
prove it.”

  “We can't have that happening,” he said, and kissed the slope of her bottom, tender kisses, open-mouthed kisses, kisses using tongue, his mouth sliding down the slope of her fanny. Sweet kisses, sweet, sweet, sweet kisses.

  Fucking coolly controlled kisses. She thought, her resentment building. Not the hot kisses she wanted. Certainly not the hungry kisses he gave her on the pier.

  Yet those coolly controlled kisses turned her into a big dish of soupy ice cream, and that just so pissed her off. How did he manage to turn her hot and molten while he remained an ice burg?

  Like page five in the sex manual for rear entries, one hand stayed working her clit while Lou's other hand guided his shaft into her pussy, back to front, just the bulbous head at first.

  “Tell me if it's too much,” he said.

  “Get real,” she countered, but then spoiled the perfectly good sarcasm by moaning as she tried to accommodate him. She, who prided herself on knowing her way around a penis, should have anticipated the discomfort.

  But she hadn't, silly her, and thirty seconds in she was beginning to question all her former assertions about bigger being better. Would Lou even fit?

  “You feel so good,” he said over and over again, a careful man making his careful penetration, greasing the way into her body with compliments.

  “I don't want to screw up, I want this to be good for you, and I'm afraid it won't be good for you,” he said as he filled her, one excruciatingly slow inch at a time. “Am I too high?”

  Too high?

  The man was too everything. Too thick. Too long. Too hard. Too heavy.

  “I know I'm hurting you, sweetheart.”

  She added too perceptive to her list of grievances against him.

  “No, you're not hurting me,” she lied, biting her lip.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry, Blue,” he whispered, not believing her. “I won't move until you get used to it.”

  That might take a while, possibly the rest of the night. She was stretched to the limit, and as far as he could tell, he wasn't all the way in.

  “I'm not a bride on her wedding night here, Lou. Move already!”

  It couldn't get any worse; maybe the pressure would even improve if he got the show on the road.