by Molly Hoffer
Meg found Greg at our regular table, and we all went down to the dance floor. Meg didn’t let Greg have it for the sake of appearing to be in the best of relationships in front of the rich and famous of New York.
I had a couple of margaritas, while Meg and Greg drank straight shots of vodka. Jim abstained from drinking, “No, thanks, I’d rather not,” he replied when I nearly shoved a whiskey down his throat. That infuriated me, “How goody-goody can he get?!” I thought. Being around somebody sober when your whole group is drunk is like being in a group of sober people at a library, with one drunk guy, falling off his chair and making a scene.
I slapped Jim’s arm, “Come on! You only live once!”
“Er… no, I really don’t want to,” he said.
“And I really don’t want to bang somebody that’s more sober than my Priest at mass...” I thought.
But, then another margarita made me pretty forgetful and the music sweated out more of my ability to recall the negative. A bit later, I was on the dance floor shaking my booty in the short skirt, so that portions of my black thong were peeking out for the staring onlookers’ observation. I got down so low on the floor, grinding against Jim that I put my hands down on the polished floor to keep my balance. Jim was erect even before I touched him, just from waiting and thinking about me.
Being the center of attention, and the vibrations of Jim’s cock against my back, made me extremely horny, and I stopped seeing Jim, and just felt his hands on my back. I pushed his hands down to my thighs, and then turned around, and danced with one of his legs rubbing between my legs, stimulating my clitoris ever so slightly, but enough for me to lose my senses.
Noticing that my eyes were rolling back in their sockets from pleasure, Jim decided to take it a step further, and kissed my neck in the spot he previously determined was guaranteed to move me closer to arrival. It did the trick, and I kissed his neck in return to avoid screaming out.
Then, I took him by the hand and led him through the crowded club to a small back room that was usually closed even to regular VIPs and for which I had a special private key. The manager and a few other guests could’ve barged in at any moment, but I just didn’t care. What was the point of a locked room, if not for…
I fumbled with the key, while Jim’s hand moved south, and caressed my loins. Then, I slammed the door behind us, immediately regretting that I closed it so loudly, as I noticed in the last moment before it shut that I had attracted the attention of a partier nearby with the commotion. I waited a moment without moving, and then pulled Jim towards a pullout couch in the corner. I pulled him down to the mattress, and got on top of him, unzipping and pulling down his pants once I was mounted. The couch creaked, so I moaned quietly in rhythm with it and my movements, as I began to throttle Jim’s cock with my pelvis. Jim didn’t share Greg’s problem, and it was over an hour later when both of us finally erupted, with the help of a bit of mutually exchanged oral.
When we came out of the private room, there was a dozen of college boys giggling and snorting nearby, all staring at us as we emerged, so I figured that I wasn’t as inconspicuous in my moaning as I had thought.
I thought about chewing them out, but was too embarrassed at being spotted with Jim to do it. So, I gave them the evil eye, and we continued back to the dance floor. Meg was somewhere between passed out and sleepy, as she leaned against the cushion of a seat at our table. Greg was sipping on a new drink. He was a basketball player for a minor league team in Brooklyn, so he could hold an Olympic quantity of liquor.
“Meg!” I shook Meg’s shoulder to bring her about.
“Hmmm” she groaned, barely purring it out, without the strength to do much more than blow air through her lips. Unlike Greg, she was so lightweight that a drink over two flooded every available blood vessel to the brink.
“Meg! It’s 3am, they’ll close soon,” I insisted.
“Uhuu,” she moaned, and perched her lips for a moment.
“Jim, Greg, why don’t you guys just carry her out. We gotta go.”
“Carry her…” Jim asked, scanning Greg’s sculpted muscles, and then checking his own boney arms. “Maybe we should get the bouncer?”
“What a sissy! God! I can’t believe I’m still with you!” I yelled, stumped my foot, and looked over at Greg, who didn’t need to be asked twice. He could easily have carried the three of us all together, so he carried Meg out like a feather, without her saying anything else. I guess I asked Jim to help with carrying Meg just to test him, and he failed in the worst way possible. I was suddenly disgusted that I had just had him inside me.
“No, Jim, get your own ride,” I said, when Jim tried to get in our limo with Greg, Meg and me. “I’ve had it with you. Shooo.”
“But Vanessa, I…”
“Who cares what you are or what you do! Bye, bye,” I yelled, pushing him out of the limo’s doorway.
“But…”
“Bye!” I yelled, giving him one final shove, and shutting the door in front of him.
I remember that particular night because it was our last party before my senior year, but otherwise it wasn’t too different from the final nights I had with other hookups. There were variations in the size, proportions, weight, intellect, and all that between the men I was dating, but it all blended into a single mass rollercoaster. It would start with excitement, anticipation, flirtation, progress to steamy or mildly intense sexual encounters, and then would fizzle out or explode into either a forgetful spot or an explosive breakup.
CHAPTER TWO
When I woke up next morning, or rather afternoon, I was thankful that it was Sunday and that there was a day left for me to prep for school. I didn’t really have a curfew on my schedule, but partying on Sundays was a no-no after a couple of disastrous outings with repercussions for the following day’s schoolwork.
I spent the next three hours washing, brushing, and otherwise ridding my body of the smells of smoke and alcohol, and the faint smell of sex that lingered because I was too exhausted the night before to even take a shower. I lowered the projector TV screens in my spacious bathroom and in my room and watched some DVDs, while I got ready out of the corner of my eye. In the third hour, the maid arrived and placed a tray with a variety of different breakfast dishes on my dining table. I usually asked her to bring a few different options because I never knew what I’d feel like that day.
I had a croissant and black coffee with sugar that morning to lift me up for a stressful day.
As I ate, I started my laptop and browsed the Inbox of a couple of my email accounts. There were the usual love letters from boys I slept with once, or who wished they could go out with me, or those who thought I glanced their way in the hallway. Then there was a pile of emails from girls that were my casual friends, who were inviting me to parties, or trying to find out about where I was planning to party in the first week of school, so they could mimic my tactics. There were a few fundraising emails from major charitable organizations in Manhattan that were inviting me to benefits and to solicit my parents to make a donation to the fight against cruelty to animals, environmental abuses, and the like. I starred the emails from my teachers. Half of them sent a syllabus and the first week’s handouts in advance, and a couple, included a pre-first-class assignment for us to complete. It was now 3pm, and I had to go to sleep no later than 10pm, and I felt the day shrinking by the minute.
Suddenly, the butler, Fedor Trot, knocked on my door.
“Enter,” I said pretty quietly because I was right next to the door.
“Vanessa, you parents are requesting that you come over to the dining room. They have something they’d like to share with you.”
“Now?! Why don’t they share it with me over dinner in a few hours?”
“No… I think they said that they really need you to visit with them as soon as possible…”
What could’ve been that urgent? In my family, we had only very formal family meetings, where millions or billions of dollars were discussed. A
merger, an acquisition, a new business venture, those were the things that got my dad’s heart pumping and prompted a family meeting to decide if everybody were on board with a change that impacted all of our wallets. We frequently dined together, but primarily because we had a master chef that served the warmest and best food at the main table, and occasionally brought in special guest cooks that cooked up delicacies only for those family gatherings. Anybody that stayed in their room for dinner knew that their meat would be a bit colder, and their ice cream a bit warmer.
I shrugged, “OK, OK, I’ll come down in a moment.”
I finished my outfit by putting on a belt and casual shoes over my dress, and strolled over to the dining room. As I opened my door, I could hear voices down the hall, and as I neared the dining room, I could tell that there was a new voice in their midst. It was a newly broken male voice that still had soft childish qualities to it. It was more melodic and rhythmic than many of the voices of the men and boys I was used to. It was also steady and more mature in its flow.
Who can it be? I thought. Jehovah’s Witness? Boy Scout? A neighbor?
I walked into the dining room, and my eyes met with a set of giant blue eyes in this little round face, surrounded by long blond hair. I was struck-dumb for a few moments.
“Hi…” I finally said, breaking the awkward silence.
“Vanessa, this is Dominic Madsen. He’ll be joining our family… at least for a while,” dad said, with a measured tone, working to make Dominic comfortable.
“Joining our family?” I asked, surprised. How exactly can somebody I’ve never met just join the family? “Are you a cousin I’ve never met?” I asked.
“No, Nick is…”
“I’m being fostered,” Nick interrupted, to stop further discomfort from my father’s attempts to be gentle about the matter.
“Fostered?! Ain’t you a bit too old for fostering?!” I asked, scanning him, and comparing him mentally to boys in my grade, and confirming that he was about the same age as me. “I thought foster care ends when you turn sixteen?”
“No, it ends at eighteen,” he corrected me.
“Why… why did you guys do that?” I asked. “Isn’t four kids enough for you guys? Is it like a middle-life crisis?”
“Vanessa! Can you be civil in front of our guest!?” my mom shouted, as usual trying to improve my manners by raising her voice and causing a scene.
“I just don’t get it. When has anybody in the whole Szabo family ever fostered or adopted anybody? I can’t wrap my mind around it… Why didn’t you guys just buy a foster home instead?”
“This is a highly inappropriate reaction!” dad concluded. “You’re going to stop with your bantering and you’re going to go give Nick a tour of the house, and you’re going to become fast-friends, or you’re going to see a shrinking in your weekly budget.”
“No! Not during first week of classes! You can’t cut it! I haven’t finished with my pre-school shopping!”
“Then, I guess it’s going to pay for you to be civil!”
Nick was looking down at the floor across this conversation, and I suddenly felt like I was revealing all of my cards before the start of the game. My budget was at stake, and with it the spectacular senior year I had planned. If even a few thousand dollars went to Nick instead of funding a new dress, or drinks for a party, he was standing in the way of my final take-over at Trinity, and the final maneuvers that would set me up for a first-class transition into my new life as a college socialite. I had to tone it down, and find out what made Nick tick to send him packing out of our penthouse as quickly as possible.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t welcoming Nick with open arms, I just said that I didn’t understand why you guys were suddenly doing foster care… It’s just unusual.”
“That’s better. So, go on and…” dad said and pointed towards the hallway.
Nick stood up shyly, and bowed his head to my parents and looked back at them as he walked toward me, as if they were royalty.
I pointed for him to follow me down the main hallway and led the way. I gave the tour as if I was a real-estate agent, matter-of-factly, thinking that it was better to keep a neutral tone.
I pointed out the help’s rooms, “I guess you’ll displace one of them…”
“Don’t you have guest rooms?”
“Yea, I guess that’s true. Maybe you’ll get one of those instead.”
Nick stopped, and looked more directly at me for the first time since I started talking. “Look, I don’t want to put you out. They made me come here. It’s not like I set out to get your family’s money or something.”
“As if you’d get your hands on our money, do you how many lawyers stand between you and our money?!” I chortled at how ridiculous the idea sounded.
“I just don’t need this. I’m pretty tired. Is there anything else to see?”
Nick looked tired, and as I stood there beside him, I noticed that he also had a smell about him that was similar to how I smelled earlier that morning before I took a shower. His t-shirt had a small hole at his thigh, and the bottoms of his jeans were torn, but not as a fashion statement, but rather with mud stains on them, as if they were too big and were dragging on the dirt and got ripped over long-term wear. How long would that take? I thought with vague curiosity.
While my eyes were glancing over his rags, I also noticed that he was in a pretty good shape, and that he was skinny, and his skin tone was very pale, as if he hadn’t been in the sun for years. Some girls might like that tall, dark and muscular form, but I always preferred boys that were around my height, and that were less threatening in terms of musculature and weight. The image of having sex with a giant, fat weight trainer is a nightmare I have some times, and it’s not one I want to bring to life.
But, there was a wall that stopped me from feeling attracted to Nick, and that wall was that he was poor, barely educated, and likely to remain both permanently. Still, there was something animalistic in me that was drawn to him, even as I consciously felt threatened by him, and felt some hatred towards him as a potential rival over my space and privileges at home, and if foster care turned into adoption, he was also a possible threat to my inheritance. He looked like a hustler, and I had every suspicion that he would try to swindle my parents out of their money, or would rob us blind before he left. I scanned the paintings worth millions that littered our walls and the golden furniture and felt certain that no matter what Nick said, or how sweet he tried to look, it was up to me to stop what was clearly his plot to milk us for all we were worth.
“That concludes our tour,” I said and led him back to the living room, where my parents took over the case.
“Fedor,” my mom ordered, “prepare the guest suite for Nick, and show him where all the soap and towels are.”
That was enough for Fedor to organize a full restocking of the guest suite with new pillows, covers, and a new set of bath utensils. When it was all ready, he announced the completion of the preparations to Nick, and gave him a long lecture about every odd feature of the room, as if he was doing a techno demonstration at a conference, but then between the TV screens, the shaded window blinds, and the adjustable bed, there was a lot to explain to avoid Nick falling off the bed by pressing the wrong bottom and the like.
I retreated to my room when Fedor started this migration, but I could tell what they were up to from the noises in the hallway. I couldn’t concentrate on my schoolwork, so I just sat there at my table, punching the table with my fingers, and glaring at the closed door, imagining what they must’ve been doing.
Finally, I decided that since I wasn’t getting anything done, I might as well go snoop more closely on the developments. When I heard the staff quiet down in the hallway, I stepped out and all I could hear was my parents talking in their room on the other side of the penthouse. I knew that the library was the closest adjacent room to their bedroom, so I quietly snuck in there and sat on the chair that was positioned against the wall that was shared with thei
r apartment. I picked up a book from the closest bookcase, to look as if I was busy reading, in case somebody budged into the library. A moment passed, and then my parents returned to their conversation.
“How upset was Vanessa! Oh my, I haven’t seen her like that in a while. What a hissy fit,” mom said.
“She’s getting too old for fits. We should start saying ‘no’ to her more often.”
“Sure we should, but I still don’t understand this whole thing with Dominic…”
“The Brooklyn foster care organization where he was a ward was shut down… I’m on the Board of the Manhattan organization that he was transferred to, and I volunteered to take him in.”
“Why?”
“He was sleeping at the Brooklyn offices for a few days before they closed, on some chairs… I just thought he needed a break.”
“You wouldn’t let me take in a cat from that shelter, remember, why on earth would you take in a child, and Vanessa made a decent point, he’s seventeen…”
“Why is that a problem?”
“It’s too old; kids finish most of their developing by fourteen, so it’s not like there’s much we can do…”
“I don’t want to reform him; I just wanted to give him a nice place to stay for a bit…”
“But, who knows, he might have a criminal record. It would’ve been sealed because he’s a minor.”
“A criminal record?! Come on! Now you’re getting hysterical. He’s just a kid. Did he look like he has a criminal record?!”
“Do you know why he was in foster care?”
“I don’t know the details, and I don’t think we should go into all of that.”
“I hope it won’ be an issue,” mom said, and stopped to think for a moment. “No, you’re right, it’s a nice thing you’re doing. I hope this will be good for him… And maybe it will be good for Vanessa…”
