Previously, on A Young American…
To start at the beginning, go here.
She really was something. I always thought that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy a woman who was so proud to be, but I guess the joke was on me. She simply screamed pride. Her posture was as upright as can be, not an inch of skin showing, except where absolutely necessary, yet more beautiful than a naked Playboy model.
Her hair was a deep brunette and barely grazed her hoop earrings. Even the way she sipped her coffee made her seem like she was on guard. She wore pantyhose, and her shoes were deep purple, only slightly high heels. Our conversation at the table sparked almost immediately.
“Any good stories behind that shiner?”
“Fell down two flights of stairs, actually.” She let out a chuckle and her hoop earrings jiggled beneath her hair.
“So, what brings you to this side of the city?” she asked, gracefully sipping at her seemingly bottomless cup.
“Girl I dated for a bit said this place had great food.”
“Was this before or after she broke up with you?”
“Who says she broke up with me?” I stared into my empty coffee cup.
“I think it’s pretty safe to assume that you wouldn’t be visiting a favorite restaurant of your ex if you were the one to terminate the relationship.”
She was a crafty one, “Okay, well what if we ended on even terms?”
“No…” She said, waving her hand and searching through her handbag, “The only reason you would be walking through that door is if you wanted to see her again, and the only reason you would want to see her again is if you wanted to be with her still. And if you want to be with her still, then you wouldn’t have left on even terms.” She pulled out her phone, which was vibrating furiously.
“Well, you’re wrong.” I said. She finished her text, set her phone down, leaned forward and stared at me with those dark brown eyes.
“How so? What am I missing?”
“Well, if you must know,” I paused. I didn’t want to tell her that some girl I almost fucked had AIDS. My eyes darted down. “We never actually started a relationship. She was battling with a boyfriend, and I stepped in. She said she had to think about things, and eventually she chose him.” I looked up, “So I win, based on a technicality.”
She smirked and raised an eyebrow, “She was still the one holding you back.”
“Yeah, well…” I shrugged. She laughed and stood up, laying a 10 on the table. Lucky waiter, I thought. I threw a five down and stood next to her. In her slightly high heels she was even height with me, Maybe even an inch taller. She smiled again. God, I loved that smile.
“I’m afraid I have to get back to work.” She walked by me and I stood there, trying to think about what I had done wrong, was it this damn black eye? Then I heard a, “It’s about five blocks up, on the corner of 37th and 8th. If you wanna meet me there at 6:30, I wouldn’t mind grabbing an early dinner.” I turned around and she had one hand on the door, handbag on her shoulder: one strap hanging loose.
“I’d like that.” I said, “Which building?”
“Well come with me and see for yourself.” I slithered my way to the door, which she promptly held open for me.
“What a gentleman!” I said, as I stepped out to the now fresh smelling morning air. “First an early lunch and then an early dinner. Do you wake up at three?”
“No later than 2:30.” We stopped at her work, which was some large building. It didn’t have a name written on the front anywhere, so I assumed she was a lawyer or some kind of executive.
“All right, well I’ll be out here at 6:30 PM sharp.” I said.
“Okay, see ya then.” She waved and walked inside, taking my stamina with her. I stayed up all night drinking, and to top it off I went and jacked off all my energy into a trashcan. There was no way I was going to make it to six o’clock without a little sleep. I called Charlie but he didn’t answer. As I wandered the streets, I stumbled across a place called MetroNap. How convenient, I thought as I stepped inside and was greeted by a beautiful 1960s style receptionist. “Good morning, sir!” She said in a bright, chipper tone.
“Hey, is this place what I think it is?” She wore pink, pointy glasses and her hair was a full, thick blonde.
“And here I thought the name said it all.” Boy, fate had smiled upon me that morning. I swiped my card and walked to the back before she even told me what the total was going to be. In the back room I saw people lying in their chairs under some sort of dome and they looked like they were dead. It was wonderful. I crawled into the first free pod and closed the lid. Under the dome was nothing but darkness and smooth music, which I could change if I wanted. I settled on some soft saxophone and drifted off into wonderland.
Then the dream started.
I’m in a red hot 1978 Pontiac Firebird, speeding down the highway. It feels like California with the beach in plain view and the wind a cool, dry 70 degrees. My hair’s unusually long, and whips chaotically back and forth as I rage on toward a bridge. Spirit in the Night blasts on the radio. The static hangs in the background and adds a new tone to the song, reminding me that it could go at any minute.
I sing along, but can barely hear myself over the racing wind in my face. I reach down to turn it up, feeling a hand on the dial. Sitting in the passenger seat, wearing only a silver necklace containing a locket, is Britney. She looks at me with her forest green eyes and sparkling lipstick, and starts singing along with the song.
Bruce overlaps her. She looks on, tilting her head back, letting the song wash over her beautiful, naked body. I smile at her, turning back to see I’m about to run into the front of the bridge. My panic causes me to swerve in the wrong direction.
The car leaps off the edge of the cliff and heads into the ocean below. Out of the corner of my eye Britney pulls some James Bond shit. One minute we’re sinking to the unknown depths below, the next she flips open the top of the stick shift, revealing a blood red button.
The car kicks into high gear, skipping like a rock across the open sea. Battleships come out of nowhere with the sole purpose of being in our way. I jerk the wheel, and the car actually swerves out of the way of the first ship, making another rock skip in the water. The poor thing loses its front bumper.
Th next bump takes the tires, and the hard jerk knocks Britney out of her seat. As I stand up to make some silly Jackie Kennedy attempt to get her before she’s gone, a hand touches my shoulder: A hand with sky blue fingernail polish on it. Barbara sits in Britney’s place, suit and all.
I sit back down and she holds my hand as we make our last skip over the ocean. Just before making impact, I was blinded by the light of the ceiling. The lovely receptionist stood over me. “Time’s up Mr. Richardson.” She said. I sat up, rubbing my eyes. She looked at me.
“I look like shit don’t I?” I asked. She pinched her forefinger and thumb together. I checked my phone: 5:55. I had to use the restroom. Thankfully there was a disposable toothbrush with toothpaste in the bristle sitting next to the sink. I gleefully got rid of my morning breath before washing my face. This is as good as you’re gonna look. I busted out of the door like I was some hot shit and stepped back outside into the cool air and oncoming darkness.
If I had any overalls on I would have snapped them to show my happiness as I strolled uptown to meet my saucy date for the evening. For a moment my eagerness turned into fear, and I wondered if she had gotten off work early, or why she didn’t give me her cell phone number before she left, just in case we missed each other.
Then my fear turned into anger. Bitch fuckin’ played me! She pulled my strings like a puppet. Probably laughing at me around the water cooler right now, saying, “If you guys look down there, you’ll see that dope pacing in front of the building. He actually thought I was interested! Yukyukyuk.” Then my anger turned into relief when I saw her standing there, scanning the crowds for me. I waved. “I thought you were gonna ditch me.” She smiled, marching up to me.
“Thought about it.” I said. She walked me to a fancy napkin restaurant, where we were seated immediately. “So, are you a lawyer?”
“Why do you ask? Because I analyzed you this morning at the coffee shop?”
“Well, you’re either a lawyer or a psychologist, because those are the only ones who would care to analyze anything.” She checked her phone one last time before turning it off.
“Maybe I should’ve been, but I work in a different field.”
“Pray tell.” She attempted to explain her career, but it was entirely too complicated for me. Words like biology, sales representative, and clients seeped through oceans of words that James Joyce would have trouble understanding.
Score one for her.
“What about you?”
“I am unemployed.” Her eyes widened.
“Well, I hope you’re not trying to use me for some free ride, because that’s not happening.”
“Don’t worry.” I said, “I have money. That’s for sure.” She breathed a sigh of relief.
“So, what did you do?” She asked.
“Let’s just say I’ve dabbled in this, that and the other. And that I haven’t looked at a price tag in years. Speaking of,” our food had arrived, garnished an all. She dug into her fancy shit while I tried to remember what she did.
“So…do your clients need a…biological representative…um…this weekend?” I asked. She stared at me, elbow rudely on the table, head resting in her hand, lips curled inside her mouth, trying not to laugh.
“No. I think they can handle themselves without me for a couple days.”
When our check came, I reached up to do the honors, she asked the waiter, “Could we get this split, please?”
“Of course, ma’am.” He barely bowed then disappeared.
“Oh come on. I can handle it.”
“You can handle yours,” she said, “and I can handle mine.” She was a tease. She liked to play, and she liked to play smart. As far as I was concerned that was a great way to run a relationship. We stepped out of the restaurant I was careful to choose my words, “Would you like to walk me back to my station? We’re not that far. It’s about 15 or 20 minutes.”
She came in close, and we fought our urges, until they became too great. We kissed deeply and passionately outside the restaurant. I embraced her and brought her close to me, her breasts brushing against my chest, and my hardening cock pierced her pelvis. Our lips finally unlocked, and she whispered, “It’s only a 10 minute walk to mine.” I nodded and followed her down to 8th Avenue, where we stopped at a building almost as fancy as her work. There was a prestigious looking gentleman standing outside the door.
“Evening Ms. Browning.”
“Tell me that guy wearing an 800 dollar suit isn’t just the doorman.” She turned to me with a smirk as she pushed the elevator button.
“Would that bother you?” She asked coyly.
“It would only mean you’ve got more money than I do, which I never thought was possible.”
“Why, because I’m a girl?” She asked. The ding came and the doors slid open.
“No, because I never thought I would be having a conversation with any other person that was in my bracket. Woman or not.”
“What makes your funds so special?” She pressed ’35’ and glided a key fob over a black patch.
“That’s a conversation for another time.” The elevator zoomed up so fast my ears popped. When the doors opened I saw a fireplace, couches, and a literal wall window.
“Is this a lounge area?”
“Nope. This is me.” I followed her like an obedient dog. This whole scene threw me off. How could she have this kind of cash, especially at how young she was. “So how long ago did you graduate college?”
“About three years.” Her apartment put mine to shame. The living room alone was bigger than my entire place, and the window wall was an amazing view of the heart of the city. I took off my shoes and felt the cool hardwood floors.
“Wow. Now this is a place.” I said. She set her handbag and jacket on the long white kitchen island.
“Why, thank you. Do you want something to drink?”
“Got any Jack?” I asked, inching toward the window wall.
“Sure.” I heard a jingle of keys.
No fucking way. She had a Goddamn liquor cabinet. And keys to it. “Okay, how can you possibly afford all this?” To hell with my worries about getting laid. “A girl can’t work her ass off for three years and strike a big client?” She said, handing me a fine crystal glass with some Silver Select glazed over a single sphere of ice.
“No.” I replied. I just had to know where this money was coming from. “That’s not good enough. Don’t pull that feminist bullshit on me to get the subject dropped.” She took a seat on the couch.
“That’s a conversation for another time.” She said, patting next to her. I sat next to her, heart pounding. My nerves were shot. I was thrown so far off guard that I didn’t know what to expect, or what to do about it. She gently brushed what little hair she had behind her ears as I downed my glass, wasting some of the best alcohol I ever had.
“Relax, I don’t care about any of this stuff.” She said.
“So why have it then?” She rolled her eyes and smiled.
“Well, obviously I care about it, but what I mean is that you shouldn’t let it bother you.” As if on command, the rest of the room seemed to fade to black as she started to glow. If anything, I should have been happy that I didn’t have to go home with someone who lives in an apartment smaller than an airplane bathroom. She took the lead as she reached under my shirt and around to my back, pulling herself closer, kissing me. Her fingertips were ice cold, but I didn’t mind. I unbuttoned her top, brushing it off her shoulders.
Underneath was a black lace bra that I didn’t want to take off. It made her C’s look like D’s and I caressed them. She straddled my leg and I bit through the bra. I pushed back against her, setting her down on the couch as I began to move between her thighs. I lifted her skirt more and more to allow her legs room to spread farther apart. I felt the heat of her warm pussy radiating, and slowly pulled down her pantyhose, followed by her black lace underwear. She was dripping wet when I slid my tongue inside her. She grabbed my head, pressing it as hard as she could against her, clamping my ears with her legs.
I unbuttoned my pants and gave my flag a little freedom. Her moans grew louder as she reached behind and grabbed the armrest under her head. She pulled on my hair and dragged me up to her face, grabbing my cock and licking her lips. She kissed me deeply as she guided me inside her. We moved in sync with each other. I pushed and she pulled. She arched and I angled.
She pressed her lips on my ear and whispered, “Take me to the bedroom.” I picked her up with strength I didn’t know I possessed, carrying her to the bedroom where I threw her on the bed. Just before impact she pulled a fast one and spun me around. Now she was on top of me riding my dick while her breasts fought for freedom. She pressed her hand on my chest and slammed my shaft. Her mouth grew wider and wider until a sound escaped that needed that much room. She came so hard I felt her pussy constrict my cock right at the base, squeezing all my come out. She felt my release and gave a warm shudder usually brought on by wrapping up in a freshly dried blanket. Just as I was about to panic at actually coming inside someone, I noticed the pills on her nightstand. She rolled onto the bed and rubbed the spot next to her. I crawled up and stared at her.
“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship.” I said. She giggled like a schoolgirl. I would come to realize that pillow talk was her biggest weakness. Her need to fight off after sex sadness gave her another reason to hate men. I would become her crutch: Her little cuddle bear that she couldn’t sleep without. But for now I was just some guy she fucked, who she didn’t end up loathing immediately after.