My phone vibrates on the speckled Formica tabletop as I’m eating. Devin confirming our meet time and location. I respond back in the affirmative and gesture to Carla for the check. I’m starting to get the little adrenalin rush I get before these meetings and it affects my whole demeanor.
“Got to run, Carla. Sorry I can’t stay.”
Carla takes my card and smiles. “Yeah, the conversation has been so active.” She says, wryly.
“Must be my time.” I joke. “You working tomorrow night?”
She seems thrown off by my question before responding in a happier tone. “Just about every night, honey.”
“Well, I’ll catch you then.” I say. “I promise to be better company.” She hands me back my card.
I’m not sure how she takes it, just as I’m not sure how I meant it. I guess it could be taken another way, but it’s the closest I’ve come to showing open interest in anyone for a long time. I guess that’s progress of a sort.
The rendezvous site is the back end of the parking lot belonging to one of those big box stores. Electronics or something. I say something because they’ve never really been one of my passions. More of a necessity than something that peaks my interest. I pull in slowly, not letting the Charger have much gas, just idling around the loop until I see his car. We first met down at Goodfellow Airforce Base on a group training exercise a few years before we both refused to sign re-enlistment papers. I figured I had gone just about as far as I wanted to go. Actually, as far as the Army would probably end up letting me go, since I was actively refusing another promotion. It would have effectively made me management, and that just wasn’t something I was interested in. I’m still not, of course.
Devin pulls a heavy gym bag out of his trunk. “Money for the bag, don’t bother counting. I trust these guys.”
I test the weight of the bag briefly before asking for more details. Non-descript, plain and large, perfectly inconspicuous. I commit the drop-off location, names and descriptions to memory as always. No sense in writing these things down. A simple drop, nothing more, nothing less. “Easy enough.” I say, throwing the bag over my shoulder, not showing any outward signs of the exertion I feel at its weight. “You want me to bring the money by or do you want to pick up later?”
My place is like the proverbial Fort Knox, and he knows it’ll be safe there.
“No, it’s all good, brother.” He says, patting me on the shoulder. “Take your cut out and I’ll pick up the rest from you later.”
I throw the bag in the trunk of the Charger and watch him as he climbs into his own vehicle and slowly drives off. This is going to net me almost all I need for my anticipated ‘retirement’; yet that doesn’t make me happy. I had promised myself that I’d make a move on the Goddess before that, and yet again I was letting myself down. The irony of what I was about to do compared to my inability to chat up a woman is something I can’t keep out of my head. Easy enough to go into a den of thieves with a load of what is most likely unregistered weapons, less so to approach and talk to the woman I’ve been dreaming of making my own. I drive downtown and carry the bag in through the lobby of the hotel.
“Just visiting some friends.” I tell the desk clerk to push back any conversation. She looks at me and smiles, as if willing me to come talk to her. I don’t. I can feel the eyes on me as I walk to the bank of elevators.
I center myself during the ride up in the elevator, eyes locked on the red LED numbers above the buttons that count off the floors with an annoying electronic sound. There’s almost always a security camera somewhere and the last thing I want to do is build any suspicion by looking around for it. Best to stay as normal as possible. Things like this are entirely about attitude and confidence. Unfortunately, this is the only piece of my life where I can say I own either of those things.
Halfway down the hallway containing nothing but doors, identical in all but number, I knock at the correct one, envisioning the faces I’m likely to see when it opens. I can read the confidence they are lacking in their faces as I step inside and we make brief small talk before the other bag appears; just a small group of guys who seem more nervous than I usually expect. I unzip it and get the quick waft; the smell of a large chunk of used money. Most people don’t realize that, in bulk, money actually smells like shit once you get past the visual appeal of it. It definitely serves to take a little bit of the allure out of it, which is why everything I have gets deposited; bit by bit, of course.
There are four of them and only one of me, but I don’t give any sign that it concerns me at all. Just my confidence should keep them from doing anything stupid; it’s amazing how that works. What I am doing is taking note of each person in the room, cataloging features, general appearance and idiosyncrasies. A guy never knows when that sort of information will be useful down the road, especially in this business.
“Tell Devin thanks.” The biggest guy tells me as I’m hefting the new, lighter, bag over my shoulder. “I’ll do that.” I respond as I’m walking out, my mind focused behind me for any movement, even though I don’t actually look back. This isn’t the time for any unnecessary conversations; just hit and get.
Easy money, I think as I drive back to my house. I resist the urge to really open the Charger up; I’m not stupid. It always amazes me that the downfall of the guy carrying two hundred pounds of weed in the trunk is that he’s either speeding or has a fucking taillight out. I trigger the gate with the remote and drive into the garage. It’s a nice place, but it’s still a rental and I haven’t really done shit-all with it. I’m not going to buy anything until I decide where I want to settle down, and with whom. The Goddess, my mind tells me. I push it back for now. There’s a time for dreams and a time for reality.
I take the bag into my safe room, which is actually just an oversized storage closet, but is situated so it doesn’t look like it would be as big as it is from the outside. I pull the chain attached to the old-fashioned dangling incandescent bulb. By far not worth upgrading due to the temporary nature of the place. It swings lazily back and forth, making the light flicker somewhat. I count out the agreed-on price and leave the remainder in the bag next to the other items Devin had been entrusting me to keep. Mostly guns. I’ve been waiting for him to ask for them back, but he seems to have an unending supply. Probably some military connections from when we served together. Hey, the military made up the saying, ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’; I just interpret it a little differently than they might have expected.
Flipping on the radio as I slide onto the couch with a bottle of water, I know there won’t be anything on worth listening to if there’s no news. I’m just trying to keep myself from obsessing. Over her. A good night’s rest is what’s needed, that and a little bit more confidence in myself. How can I be so intimidated by a 5’3” bundle of sweetness like the Goddess? It’s not like I have any reason to believe she’ll reject me, or for that matter, that she would do it with anything other than the gentle soul I expect her to have. I allow my imagination to do its thing and she’s looking down at me, her full breasts in my hands as she straddles me on the couch, laughing playfully at something or other.
Chapter Six: Suzanne
“Put it away, Suzanne.” I tell myself, looking down at the Hitachi Magic Wand. I toss it on the bed, knowing full well that it’s what I want and I probably won’t be able to sleep without it, regardless of whether Anjelica comes home, beau in hand, or not. I hate to admit that the blue and white ‘massager’ is the closest thing to the Holy Grail that I’ve ever experienced. I also hate to admit that discovering it was a pleasant side-effect from watching adult videos on my phone at times just like this. If tonight goes that direction, the phone will be on the nightstand, no other stimulus needed. Images of bouncer-guy floating through my head are why I picked it up in the first place.
I putz around in the kitchen a little bit, but I know I’m not going to find anything that I want. I try to only keep a day or so worth of food because Anjelica tends to eat it w
hile I’m at work. It’s not like she doesn’t have money, it’s more about her entitled personality, and I know it. I gave up on arguing about it a long time ago. Really, I guess it says something about my personality as well. Why do I even live with her? The best answer I can ever come up with is a fear of confrontation. Tonight at the club had been the boldest I’ve been in forever, though standing up to the doorman hadn’t done me much good; at least until bouncer-guy came along.
The internal mention of him turns my thoughts back to the wand an away from the late-night snack that I don’t even really want. “You don’t even know his name, Suze. That would just be wrong.” Instead of our stunted conversation, my mind is replaying my own fantasy of the kiss. Just like me, I’m thinking. Guy like that and the best you can fantasize about is kissing him. Such a wild-child.
There’s a knock on the door and I initially wonder if Anjelica is there, drunk, possibly being supported by whatever soup of the day she has brought home. It’s Chase, from the club. I’ve only met him once or twice.
“Hey. Suzanne, right? Anjelica in?”
“No, she hasn’t come home.” I say, watching the look of disappointment on his face. He’s about to speak again when I continue. “I was just going to bed. I’ll leave a note for her to call you.”
Okay, I tell myself as I close the door before he can respond, flipping the deadbolt. Points for that, though you may be persona-non-grata the next time at the club. You might have been a little more sociable. No biggie, I think, but then see his face again. Those eyes. I open the door.
“Sorry, I’m just feeling a little ill.” I say to his retreating figure.
He turns and smiles a little. “I understand. It’s late.” He’s a decent enough guy and I find myself hoping that he has more to look forward to in his life than my roommate. He actually seems nice, just stuck in a role. Turning to walk away, I feel sorry for him as I watch him retreat down the hall.
I turn on the television and slide under the sheets, trying not to look at the Hitachi as I flip through the channels looking for something that won’t be interesting enough to keep me awake. Not the hardest thing in the world. After the warm evening, the coolness of the fresh sheets feels good on my bare legs. I shift a little and feel the sensation, my mind automatically picturing his touch on my thigh, then the more stimulating thought of the touch of that perfectly-groomed beard in the same spot. I focus on the television again. Unfortunately, nearly every leading man ends up being him; my bouncer-guy with the silky voice, exuding confidence. The steamy scene I flip through on one of the premium channels practically seals my fate.
The kiss fantasy replays in my head. This time I can smell him; a subtle combination of some sort of light aftershave and his own masculinity. Not that I have anything of the sort to go on, other than the few words we spoke. Never mind, my brain tells me. I can see my hand reaching out for the wand on its own volition while my other hand slips beneath the sheets and peels them back to my knees. Like always, I look down at myself, seeing the imperfections that give me such doubt about my own worth. The hand comes back with its prize in tow and my finger hesitates over the button as the fantasy continues. My eyes close to block out my own insecurities and focus on the vision.
“Miss?” He asks, subtly looking me up and down. There’s a glint in those deep brown eyes, a sense of longing. Longing for me.
I look up at him by way of response; he’s kind of like a little mountain.
“Would it be too forward if I invited you to dinner sometime?” That voice reaches down to the depths of me.
Pulling out a pen, I jot my name and address down on his huge palm, watching his eyes furtively as I write. “Stop by and see me some time.” I say in my best Mae West.
The fantasy fast-forwards to my apartment, no dinner date necessary. No sign of Anjelica, but she’s never in my fantasies, rightfully so. Bouncer-guy is on top of me in the bed, both of my wrists encircled above my head in just one of his big hands. I hear the buzz of the wand start up, but I try to push that to the back of my mind as his lips start at the nape of my neck and move down to my clavicle, placing gentle kisses in all the right spots. I want them on my breast so bad, but he’s taking an agonizing amount of time, enough so that I feel that he is teasing me mercilessly. The line between fantasy and reality is blurring nicely as his lips finally reach my desired location, just as his fingers press between my legs, finding my clit like there was a magnetic pull guiding him. I moan, showing him that he’s doing the right things. Generally, this doesn’t happen. I’m a pretty shy lover, by nature, but my fantasy life is a different story. I’ve always told myself that when I find the right guy, the two will be more in sync, but I’m ignoring that for now.
After a few minutes of this tease and his lips alternating between my breasts and my own, his hand leaves my clit. It’s a disappointment, until I see him reaching for the belt he abandoned at the foot of the bed. I smile wickedly at him as he cinches it around my wrists, pulling it snug enough to hurt just a little bit.
I roll to my side in the real world, tucking my free hand under my own ass, the weight on it bringing more validity to the situation in the dream. Any type of restraint will do, I think, but remember not to be found dead, handcuffed to the bed frame, I tell myself wryly. His fingers are back on me, and the electric pulse he’s administering is driving me wild. Those sweet lips travel lower, and in the fantasy I have no issue with him touching my stomach; another diversion from reality.
The beard is finally there between my legs, almost a tickle, that is until his lips find me. I arch my back at the agonizingly sweet touch, becoming more and more vocal as he searches out the center of my passion. I want him inside of me so bad, but I know he’s not going to give me that. He wants to bare me completely, make me orgasm with just his mouth and his fingers, a restrained puppet completely under his control. I stretch my legs out as far as I can, giving him access to my exposed body that I normally wouldn’t allow anyone. I look down, seeing the closely cropped black waves of his hair, right as his head tilts up, his eyes locking onto mine as he tucks his hands under my ass, lifting it up off the bed effortlessly, driving his tongue deeper into my throbbing body.
That line is more blurred than ever right now, and I debate letting him finish me off or continuing the fantasy. Much more and I won’t have the choice. I ease off on reality for a moment, knowing that I can extend things, but can’t put off the inevitable.
“I want you to come for me, Suzanne.” He says, breaking physical contact. I can see the moisture on his lips and the hunger in those soul-shattering eyes. “I want you to give your body to me.” He doesn’t wait for a response, just goes back to his labor of passion between my legs. He’s driving my clit wild, and I know I won’t be able to resist long enough to make him punish me. I know my lip just curled in a little smile at the thought, but I continue to tease myself with the wand.
Those rough hands press against my inner thighs, spreading my knees apart as he continues his punishment of my clit. I can feel my toes point and my body quiver in anticipation of the orgasm I feel rapidly approaching. My fantasy requires me to say his name over and over again at this point, so I settle for ‘master’, which does nothing but trigger me. I feel it rushing outward like a blast wave from the center of me, tightening muscles and raining goosebumps over every inch of my skin, heating up every place his body is in contact with mine. I want to push his head down into me, but the restraints don’t allow me to lower them, so I have to settle for pressing my hips up, trying to enhance the contact as wave after wave of pleasure flows through me.
The dénouement of my afterglow is spoiled by rattling of the lock in the living room. Anjelica. Shit.
I click the switch on the wand and toss it off the far end of the bed. She’s not likely to come into my room, but the potential embarrassment is enough to keep me cautious. I pull my arm out from under me as I hear the door opening, cringing at the tingling as it wakes up from its recent sleep.
Anjelica’s own, more tangible tryst starts about ten minutes later. I turn up the volume on the television, thinking about tomorrow, but I end up putting on a robe for the visit to the kitchen I had managed to avoid earlier. I’m just resolving to force myself to give up when the kitchen door swings open.
“Oh, sorry.” I hear the voice from behind me and picture the image of me bent over in front of the fridge.
I stand up and turn, a little too hastily, losing my balance and falling into Anjelica’s ‘visitor’. It’s the asshole doorman from the club, of all people. He seems just as surprised as I am. No words are spoken as I turn and close the door I had left ajar and beat a hasty retreat, knowing for sure that I was beet red from head to toe; partially with embarrassment, partially with anger.
I definitely need a place of my own.
Chapter Seven: Suzanne
Ned Weiland is on a roll today. I had barely crossed the floor of the office when I noticed his eyes on me. As the owner of J.D. Weiland Real Estate, Ned has not only developed a strong business over the years, he’s created a temple to his own lecherous nature. Once Carol, his wife of thirty years, died almost two years ago, Ned’s hiring practices started to change and not long after that, the whispers started. Sue-Ellen Campbell-Paige had a meteoric rise from office secretary to Assistant Broker, generating a buzz amongst the whole office and the local Real Estate community in general. Choice leads, motivated buyers and sellers, they had all just fallen into her lap, an easy reach to assume that something else had fallen into her lap as well.
Looking through the glass wall of his office, it’s not hard for me to see the source of the rumors. Sue-Ellen is presenting him with some sort of report, though her body language tells me she’s presenting much more than that. It’s starting to seem to me that everyone who is willing to use their body to get ahead is pulling away from me rapidly and it pisses me off. Anjelica makes more every week for a few hours on her knees than I do full time, after all. The thought sickens me though; not just because I’ll never go that way, but because I’ll never go that way, if you know what I mean.
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