by Jeff Gelb
She finished the first glass and gave in, called him. Voice mail. She couldn’t leave a message. And say what? “I’m sitting here desperately waiting for you, my love, to come complete me?”
Three hours later, panic set in. Her sisters arrived, consoled her, and worried a little too. This could mean starting over again. They liked the climate. They wouldn’t have to go far. And Carmen would get over Michael. He was, after all, just a man.
San Diego sparkled just as Santa Monica had. Yolanda took a position as a private nurse for a little girl with a genetic disorder. Esme took over as an office manager for a real-estate conglomerate, which helped find the sisters a house and two condos. Carmen decided she needed something that would take her out of herself and went into sales in Mayan and Aztec antiquities for a gallery in La Jolla. They began to rebuild.
Four months passed, and it was time to search for new men. Esme learned of two new kinds of dating services: The 3-minute Date Night and The Rotating Lunch, where an equal number of men and women were in a situation that allowed them to meet many prospects in a short amount of time. Esme set the sisters up in all she could find.
Carmen was the first to notice something “off,” as she put it. One evening, Carmen did The 3-minute Date Night at an Italian restaurant called Trastevere. The participants were kept in separate sections; women got nametags and instructions from an overweight psychologist named Tracy, and the men received theirs from a gangly Mensa geek named Max. The women sat at eighteen small tables, the men lined up ready, and a timer bell indicated they were to move from woman to woman through the circuit, with only three minutes to chat up each one.
It was clear to Carmen that she was the most beautiful and sensual woman in the room. The women were in their late thirties, some older, most with weight issues, bad hair, and fashion challenges. For tonight, she was certainly “the light on the porch.” The men, except for two, appeared more matched to the other women.
When Terry sat down, Carmen grinned widely. His tag said he was thirty-two, originally from New York, and an attorney. He was handsome and well-dressed. She wondered why he’d submit himself to The 3-minute Date Night.
His accent was deep Brooklyn. “So, gorgeous, it’s obvious we’re the only two lookers here, so let’s just cut the chit-chat and exchange numbers.” He pushed one of his business cards across the table. “I can picture us horizontal already!”
She shook inside. Her Creep-Meter was off the charts. Later, Phillip sat down. He seemed exhausted by the experience. He looked at Carmen as if he were trying to remember where he’d seen her before.
“I feel like I’ve met you before. Maybe you’ve done the circuit dinners in Mission Bay?”
He was nice looking, reminded Carmen a bit of Michael. She shooed his memory away. “This is my first foray into the dating-service world.”
“You look familiar. Maybe because you’ve got a Jennifer Lopez thing going.”
Carmen smiled. She actually knew who she was. Saw her photograph in a magazine at her hairdressers’ in Minneapolis. “Thank you, I think. So you’re a claims adjuster for a car insurance company ...”
“Boring ... Tell me about the gallery. We only have two minutes!”
As Carmen spoke, Phillip’s face went from exaggerated interest, to a frown, then his eyes slid away from her. When she tried to get him to tell her about his family, he mumbled and looked at his watch. The bell sounded, and everyone was instructed to get up and hand their list of “interested” participants in to Tracy and Max, then mingle over drinks.
At the bar, Carmen waited for the usual flurry of men, but the only interest she garnered was from a woman who wanted to know if her eyes were really that color or she wore contact lenses.
Later, sitting in Esme’s living room, the sisters lamented their bad luck. They all experienced a sense that men looked at them as if they knew them, or that their initial interest seemed to wane rather quickly. The men hesitated, made excuses. Those that showed an avid interest weren’t the kind of men the sisters wanted. Yolanda mentioned she thought that some of the same men seemed to show up everyplace they went, not just at mixers or parties or dating-service get-togethers. These men were watching, smiling sometimes, but never approaching. Once in a while, they spoke with the lonely men around them, their eyes jittering over the sisters and then away.
Then Esme found David at a seminar. He wasn’t attractive, but he was fit and eager. His last girlfriend had been when he was in college, and he graduated ten years ago.
“I can’t believe my luck. The prettiest woman in the room approached me! So, what made you seek me out?”
Esme considered his question. The desperation that had begun to plague them changed everything: eroded her confidence, expanded her range of choices into unfamiliar areas. David had attracted her because of his guilelessness. Had that been a factor before? What did it mean that a man was “ripe”? She couldn’t be sure anymore.
“You have an innocent quality. Not jaded.”
He laughed a nice, clear laugh. “You mean my lack of experience shows. I’ll take that as something, if not a compliment. How about a drink, and we can talk. I’m looking for intelligence in a woman, and conversation tells me everything.” He winked, or perhaps his nervousness made him blink erratically.
Two hours later, they were getting their coats and going back to Esme’s. She asked him to wait while she went to the ladies’ room. She called Yolanda from her cell phone.
“I think I’ve found someone. He’s not our usual ...”
“Still, I am glad. If tonight goes well, we’ll join you tomorrow night.”
“Yes.” The thought gave her a thrill.
“Oh, by the way, did you see any of the creeps that have been following us?”
She had. One. But he hadn’t approached David. Yet. “I have to go, Yoli. I left him alone!”
The hulking man with a crew cut and bad-fitting suit moved away from David as Esme approached. She stifled her anger, banished the fear from her face. Watching David, she searched for the doubt that had crossed the faces of the others in months past each time a disturbing man had spoken to them. David’s eyes went to her, the carpet, back to the retreating man, then to her.
She smiled at him then, hopeful, though she sensed the light on the porch was flickering, and the moths were going elsewhere.
He held out his arm for her, returning her smile. Grateful for any moth at all, Esme grabbed his arm to take him home.
The Mile-High Club
Trevor Anderson
She caught him looking at her as they boarded the Air Express 3:45 pm flight to Las Vegas. He was not exactly handsome, but there was something in his rough features that appealed to her. He was looking at her, so why shouldn’t she look at him?
He was about six feet, steel-gray eyes, longish hair, good build, leather jacket, black T-shirt, snakeskin boots tucked under jeans. A very noticeable bulge in his pants.
She felt a familiar little tickle in her groin. She smiled just a bit and scratched her thigh, raising her alreadyhigh miniskirt another several inches so “Boots” could really get a look at her long, tanned legs. Let him stare all he wanted. She was well aware that her legs were one of her best features, though not the only one.
Actually, she had been blessed with beauty from head to toe. She’d used that gift her whole life to get what she wanted, first from the boys she’d played with, and now from the men she toyed with.
As she entered the plane, she made sure she brushed against the guy’s shoulder so he could get a whiff of her perfume. He could also get a better view of her breasts through the flimsy T-shirt she was wearing, which barely covered the top half of her stomach, leaving her pierced navel showing. She noted that, to alleviate the summer heat outside, the plane’s air-conditioning was running at full blast, which was sure to make her nipples hard in a few more seconds. That would enhance her appearance even more, as she was often complimented by her bedmates on her “gumdrops,” as she
called them. Guys liked pulling and sucking on them. She figured it was because they were weaned too early from their moms’ tits. Men were all such babies. She figured they got what they deserved.
She saw “Boots” putting an overnight bag into the overhead bin and slipped hers next to his. He sat down by a window, and she immediately sat next to him. Air Express was a commuter airline, and there were no assigned seats. Perfect for her. And for him.
“Do you mind?” she asked as she arranged her short skirt to his best advantage.
His laugh was more of a grunt. “Not at all,” he said. She offered a well-manicured hand. “Tawny.”
She noticed the strength of his grip and the scratch marks on his hand. Either he had cats or a tough gig, though he didn’t look like a day laborer. “Eric,” he answered, holding on to her hand for a bit longer than necessary before releasing it.
The warmth of his handshake activated her tickle response again. She crossed her legs and let him catch a glimpse of her purple panties, then smoothed her skirt. She looked him straight in those steel-gray eyes and smiled, almost daring him to respond. His lips parted in a slight grin, showing uneven but white teeth.
This guy was something different for her. Obviously interested and yet, for some reason, not responding to her usual signs. He wasn’t wearing a ring, but then not all married guys did these days.
A bit flustered, she asked, “You get to Vegas often?”
He shrugged. “When I get the urge.”
Now she was back on more solid footing. “The urge for what, Eric?”
“Depends,” he said, staring more directly at her flawless legs. She felt his stare as if he were Superman and his X-ray vision was penetrating to her bones. Damn, she was making herself horny. But then, that was par for the course for her.
The plane started taxiing back from the gate, a full flight of Vegas tourists en route to play out their dreams and schemes.
His eyes rose to meet hers. “Sometimes I gamble,” he said.
“Are you a high roller?” she asked.
He considered for a moment. “I’ve been known to drop a bit of cash—for the right reasons.”
Excellent, she thought. “So you’re not afraid to pay money to have some fun, huh?” She eyed him for his reaction.
“Depends on the circumstances,” he said cryptically.
Then, as the plane started to increase its speed for takeoff, she grabbed his arm. “I’m kind of scared of flying,” she explained. “Hope you don’t mind.”
He regarded her with a bemused expression and said, “Go for it.”
She squeezed his rock-hard bicep. “Mmmm,” she purred. “You must work out.”
“Oh, I do all sorts of exercise—on the job and off.”
The plane shot into the sky, and she gave his arm an extra squeeze for effect.
“What do you do, Eric?”
He hesitated. “A little of this and a little of that.”
“Ooo ... mysterious,” she cooed. “I’ll bet you’re in the FBI and can’t admit it.”
“Hardly.”
“A cop?”
“Hell, no. Let’s just say people hire me to do certain things for them.”
She allowed her hand to rub his leather-jacketed arm a bit, up and down and up and down, before releasing her grip. Was she being obvious enough?
“Really? What a coincidence ...” She let the sentence trail for effect, but he didn’t go for the obvious followup. In fact, he started to reach for the airline magazine in the seatback in front of him.
Tawny grimaced. He was one tough customer. She decided to try a more direct approach. After all, there was little time to waste.
“There is one thing I love about flying,” she admitted. He cocked a groomed eyebrow as he placed the magazine on his lap. She smiled—she had his attention again.
“The Mile-High Club,” she purred and paused for effect. He did that odd but sexy thing with his lips again, something between a smirk and a smile.
She leaned toward him until her nipples, through the thin fabric of her T-shirt, brushed his leather jacket. “Are you a member, Eric?” she whispered.
Now he did smile. “Can’t say I have had the pleasure.”
She put her hand on his. “Listen, the flight to Vegas takes forty-eight minutes. That means we have about thirty-five minutes before they start the descent ...”
“Sounds like you’re an old pro at this.”
“You might say that,” she said.
“Well ...”
Was he waffling? “Hey, I’m sorry. I thought you liked me.”
“Oh, listen, I like you all right. I just ...”
She took his hand and placed it on her bare thigh. “Can you feel how hot I am right now?” She slid his hand up under her short skirt and into her underwear. “And how wet?” She looked around, but the people on the other side of the aisle were looking out their window. And anyway, it was none of their business. If they wanted some, they could stand in line.
She maneuvered his fingers until one was settled on her clit and another was about three inches inside her.
“I guess so,” he laughed as he slowly pulled out. His finger, they both noted, was glistening. He licked it and grinned, “Just like candy.”
“There’s more where that came from,” she cooed as she placed a hand over his pants where the bulge had gotten noticeably larger. She gave it a squeeze. “Feels like you’re ready.”
“Oh, I’m ready all right.”
“And I have condoms with me,” she offered. “So we’ll be safe.”
“Safe?” Again with the bemused smile. She liked it but found it disconcerting as well. Strange guy, but now she was totally turned on and ready to go. And so, she hoped, was he.
She said, “You buy, we fly.”
“What?”
She made a face. “You gonna make me spell it out for you? Most guys get it pretty quick when I start squeezing their ... arms.”
“You’re a call girl?”
Tawny twitched. “Keep your voice down! Shit!”
“Sorry!” He spread his hands out in mock apology. He seemed to be enjoying making her feel uncomfortable.
“Anyway,” she continued, “twice a month I fly to Vegas because I can make more money there in a weekend than I can in LA in a month. Actually, I’m planning to look at some Vegas real estate this weekend. LA’s a shithole, you know?”
“It has its charms.”
She looked at her watch. It was time to cut to the chase. “Listen, if you want me, you’d better pay me, because this plane’s landing soon.”
“Well, you drive a hard bargain,” he said, grinning. “I don’t like to pay for pleasure ... not that kind of pleasure, anyway... .”
“Oh, I’m worth it.”
“How much?”
She considered. “Depends on what you want. Standard fuck starts at five hundred dollars. You want the whole shot, a grand.”
He whistled. “Man ... you must be some hot shit.”
“Try me.”
“You come with a money-back guarantee?”
“No one’s complained yet.”
They remained silent for a bit after that, as she watched him consider her offer. She hoped he’d agree—she was hot for this guy, and his cash. Fucking him had become a mission for her.
She watched as he finally reached inside his leather jacket, retrieved his wallet, and pulled out ten hundreddollar bills.
“I knew you had money the minute I saw you,” she said, a happy lilt in her voice.
He handed the cash to her. “Keep these someplace safe,” he said.
“Oh, don’t worry, I never lose a nickel. Or a customer.” She slipped the bills into a small pocket in her miniskirt. “Trust me, you’ll be back on this flight in two weeks.”
“We’ll see.”
She stood up, taking his hand. “So—you ready to ‘join the club’?”
He nodded. “I’m betting your scenery beats that scenery,” he said
as he glanced at the Sierra Nevada mountain range some 25,000 feet below them.
She motioned him to follow her to the back of the plane. When they got to the restroom, she looked around to see if anyone was watching. The coast was clear. The attendants were busy passing out soft drinks and peanuts to greedy hands.
They both slipped inside the tight restroom space, and she locked the door behind them.
He asked, “What if someone has to go ... ?”
“There are three restrooms on this plane. No one will bother us. If they do, I’ll groan and make like I’m throwing up.”
“Lovely image,” he said, and they both laughed. “So now what? There’s not a whole lot of room in here... .”
“We don’t need much room for this,” she said as she unzipped him with one hand and simultaneously slipped her purple panties down her legs with the other. Then she sat on the closed toilet lid and took him into her mouth, lubricating him with her tongue and then downing his entire shaft in one long, fluid gulp. She was pleased to hear him actually gasp. She slid him in and out of her mouth while he stood, hands against the wall of the tiny room, and they both watched her stellar performance in the mirror. This was one of her specialties.
She let him pull out of her mouth and smiled when he noticed that she had somehow slipped a condom on his penis while giving him head. She motioned for him to sit where she was. He sat down, and she straddled him.
“Feel that?” she asked breathlessly.
“You’re so wet I could use an umbrella down there.”
“No, I mean the way the plane’s engines are vibrating. Adds to the thrill of the ride, doesn’t it? Gawd, I love this feeling,” she enthused as she rode him, back and forth and up and down, arms around his neck, smelling his fresh-washed hair, feeling his nails dig into her back.
Suddenly she stood up and faced away from him, hands on the restroom’s door. “Now you get to be the pilot,” she cooed, and she felt him enter her from behind.
