Birthday Girl

I always knew there was a difference between making love and fucking.

Until I met Trey the night I turned 30, I never knew that fucking existed.

As a privileged white girl, I was raised with a soft hand a large piggy bank. My mother was a lawyer and my father was a plastic surgeon. I had nannies, babysitters and private schooling for most of my life. I was what many considered spoiled, but I never, thankfully, turned out that way as an adult. I had made my own choices, I had a conscious and I gave back to the community as much as I could. I figured I had the money, might as well make some good out of it.

When I was 25 I married Charles. He was an upper crust white boy, raised with the same soft hand and large piggy bank. The difference between us was that I gave two shits about other people. As long as his bankroll kept increasing, he didn't care about much else.

My marriage to Charles was plain as a sheet of paper. It was always the same, always boring. We planned parties, went to parties, and were friends with those who could make our social climb easier. I found it all quite boring and stuffy, but Charles lived and breathed for it.

I could care less.

The monotony of his life carried over to our love life. We had sex missionary style with the lights off and my satisfaction was never of importance. Now don't get me wrong, I loved Charles very much, and I know he loved me as well, but we just never had that passion. I suppose that persons of our stature were supposed to lead these trivial boring lives, but I never thought it was like this.

My mother never complained. I assumed that either she didn't have the passion I was storing in my body, or my father had just sucked the life from her. God, I prayed every night that I won't end up like my mother. So why did I marry Charles? Why else. He was rich, good looking, and one of the most eligible bachelors in Manhattan. Who wouldn't want to be married to him?

When I turned 30, my mother and best friend threw me a birthday party to celebrate, including all the girls from the office (well, my fathers office) and the various friends I had collected over the years. Not in attendance was my father who was in Rio and my husband because, well, he was busy diddling his secretary. At least I suspected anyway.

Which was fine with me when the girls and I made our way from bar to bar that night. I didn't feel over the hill at all, and my body didn't betray me. My perky tits and firm ass had stayed in place, and my weekly Pilate session with Francesco had paid off. I was dressed all in black. Not because I was 30, but because I genuinely liked the color, and I felt extremely sophisticated in my black slacks, black sleeveless turtleneck and black stilettos. Of course the girls had to throw in a party hat that quoted "Kiss me, it's my birthday". I tucked my long brown hair behind it and sucked it up. I was going to have a good time no matter what.

"Reagan!" my best friend Carol called from the bar when my entourage and I walked into the first bar of the night. "Over here!"

My friends and I made our way over to the bar where Carol had courteously already ordered several shots.

"What the hell is this?" I asked giving her a hug. "It smells like gas!"

"Not sure! Just drink it!" Carol responded, handing me the small glass. "Come on, a toast!" she said raising her glass to the other girls and me.

We all raised our glasses and Carol made a small speech, which entailed my most embarrassing moment in prep school (at which I got drunk the first time) and which also included me recent achievement of turning 30.

"To Reagan!" She shouted, and we all took our shoots.

Several hours later, and too many shots to count later, we ended up in a small bar right around midnight.

"Okay, girls." I said, covering my mouth to giggle. Although I was bordering on drunk, I was still trying to be proper. "This is it for me. I don't want to leave this bar. We are here for the duration!" I got a round of cheers from my friends and we gravitated to the bar.

I got there first, and motioned for the bar tender to come over by waving around a 50 dollar bill. At least my money got me some things. Fast service was one of them.

"Hi!" I said loudly. I giggled again and tried to calm myself. The bar tender smiled and hung the glass he was drying. "I want to order some drinks for my friends and I."

"What will it be?" The voice was strong. I focused my vision a little and took in his look. He was a black man, built, not overly like those psycho body builders, but had serious definition. He wore a black t-shirt and snug jeans. I could only imagine what his ass looked like. "What will it be?" He asked again, leaning against the bar.

"Um, something top shelf." I said giggling again. He smiled and his dimples deepened.

"Coming right up," He said as he turned. I got a good look at his ass, and my eyebrow rose. I was heated, a little drunk, and bordering on horny. What the hell was wrong with me? I put on a poker face as he returned to the bar with the small glasses and the booze. He expertly made a show of pouring the drink and then slid them across the bar. "That will be 23 dollars." He said as he wiped his hands on his pants. I handed him the 50 and when he returned with the change, I told him to keep it.

"That's an awful big tip, lady." He said, trying to give the money back.

"No, really I insist." I said, trying to behave ladylike in the face of drunkenness. "Besides, we plan to be here for awhile, and I might forget to tip later."

"In that case, I'm your man." He smiled. "My name is Trey, and if you need something else, come to me. I got you." He turned his head when his name was called from the other end of the bar and nodded back. "Enjoy." He said to me as he walked away.

I carried the drinks to my remaining friends (the others had to go home to their kids and husbands) and we each took the shot. I couldn't tell you what it was, but it was smooth going down. A good sign. Or a bad one, depending on how you looked at it.

20 minutes later I was back to the bar, crooking my finger at Trey to come hither. He leaned over the bar and smiled.

"Hey, it's my big tipper. What can I get for you, ma'am?"

"First, I still would like to believe that I am too young to be called ma'am, even though I am 30." I pointed to the hat I was wearing. "And second, please call me Reagan."

"Well then, Reagan," Trey said reaching for more shot glasses, "I thought this was your 21st birthday, not your 30th." I blushed and giggled again. God, I was acting like a goddamn schoolgirl.

"Please!" I said, smiling and blushing some more. "I hardly think so, but thank you for the compliment." Trey pushed the glasses towards me.

"Well, seeing that it is your birthday, and that cute little hat says to kiss you because of that fact, I'll let you have these drinks for free if you allow me the honor to kiss the birthday girl."

I just about choked on something imaginary and Trey stood back and smiled. I think he was impressed with himself. Or cocky. I couldn't tell which.

"Free drinks are really not necessary." I started. "And I am not sure the statement ‘kiss me, it's my birthday' is meant to be taken literally."

"Well, I was never one to pass up the opportunity to get a kiss from a pretty woman. I'd think you're using false advertising."

"I hardly see how that is the case, but…"

"And really," Trey said, now almost laughing, "think of how jealous all your friends will be." He nodded to my group of friends, who were, at the moment gawking at Trey, drool practically dripping from their mouths.

"Trey, I appreciate it, but…" I stopped, looking at him and shrugged. What the hell. By now my husband was probably bending his secretary over the desk and all Trey wanted was a kiss. Itwas my birthday after all.

"But, what the hell." I said finally. Trey pulled his head back in surprise, shocked that I actually agreed.

"Well then," He said, wiping his hands again on the bar towel and then leaned over the bar even further, "Let me be the first here, at least, to kiss the birthday girl." I leaned in as well, meeting his face in the middle of the bar. He wasted no time, tilting his head to the side and touched his lips to mine.

I caught fire. Through my head, to my stomach, and to the center of my legs, I was burning. As his lips brushed mine again, I moaned involuntarily, and I felt a sliver of tongue. In a matter of seconds the kiss was over, and Trey withdrew, laughing lightly as I stood there with my eyes still closed.

"Well then, Reagan," He said. "Happy Birthday, and the drinks," He tipped an imaginary hat, "Are on me." He quickly turned and headed to the other end of the bar.

I stood still, lost in the moment, hating myself at the same time. I glanced around, paranoid that somehow my husband might have seen. After I frantically searched the bar and saw no sign of him, I relaxed, picked up the drinks and headed back to my friends.

"Reagan!" my friend Carol screamed, laughing. "What was that?"

"The, uh, bartender Trey said because I had this stupid hat, he was obligated to kiss me."

"Yeah, so we saw!" my other friend Amber said, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Look, it was nothing you guys." I said, passing out the drinks and then holding it high. "Lets just keep the night going!" We all took the shots and headed back to the dance floor.

When the night was winding up, and we had all had enough of the beating music and the smoke, I headed back to the bar to pay the tab. The crowd had thinned out, and after last call, the bar was pretty much empty. Trey met me at the counter, bill in hand.

"Hello again." He said. "I'm guessing from the look of you and your friends, you're ready to check out."

"Yeah, I think we have all had enough." I said smiling. "What's the damage?"

"Looks to be 123.54. Man, you all can drink!" Trey said.

"Between the 7 of us, this is nothing." I handed him my credit card.

"Well, I hope to see you all here again." He smiled and leaned in close. "Too bad it's not your birthday everyday." With that he turned away to run the credit card through the machine. I blushed again, flattered by his flirtation and the fact that I liked it. Before I could finish my thoughts, Carol came running up to me.

"Shit, Reagan." She said, "Johanna is throwing up outside. I think she is really sick!"

"Damnit." I said, following her outside to where Johanna was being held up by Amber and Sarah. She was hanging on to a street sign with one hand and her stomach with the other. A pile of red puke was on the ground. Oh, this was a lovely way to end the night.

"Where is the limo?" I asked, looking around for my driver. I saw him at the end of the parking lot and waved him over. He jumped in the car and came around to the corner. Carefully we piled in, Johanna on the end and with a bucket at her feet.

"She better not throw up in here, Reagan." My driver Earl said. "Charles will have a cow."

"Look, tell me something I don't know, will you?" I shot back, not really giving two shits about my husband at this moment. "Let's just get her home."

After the rounds were made and all my friends had been dropped off, I sat in the back of the Limo, drinking a sprite and replaying the night over in my head. I always had a great time with my friends and tonight was no exception. I smiled when I thought of Trey, his birthday kiss, and his sexy black body.

I had never been with a black man, seeing that I was raised in a closed minded white upbringing. It wasn't that my family was racist, not at all; it was just that they, meaning my family, did not look too kindly on interracial mingling. Not to mention that the black men I did know, were really white, but in black skin. They were boring, predictable and of course, wealthy.

Then it hit me. I had left my fucking credit card at the bar! I was so absorbed with getting Johanna home that I forget to get my card back from Trey. Shit, shit, shit! I glanced at my watch, which read 2:46, and I highly doubted that even if I went back, which would take at least 20 minutes, no one would even be there. Shit. I'd have to go back tomorrow and get it. One more thing on a list of many to do's.

When I finally got home, I was tired, still a little tipsy, and smelled like a bar. I striped my clothes, took a hot shower and fell into bed, not even bothering with pajamas. Before I could fall asleep, I heard Charles come into the bedroom and close the door. He loosened his tie, dropped his watch into the jewelry case, and sat to take his shoes off. Noticing I was still awake, he spoke.

"Did you and the girls have fun, honey?" He asked disinterestedly.

"Yeah." I managed, not really opening my eyes all the way. "It was fun."

"Glad you had a good time." Charles slipped of his pants and slid into the bed next me. I rolled over and went to sleep.

The following morning I had a headache and a sour stomach. I popped 2 Advil, drank at least a gallon of water and took another hot shower. By 11am I was feeling almost normal, and decided to get dressed and retrieve my credit card from the bar.

It was fall, so I chose a burgundy corduroy pant and a white silk shirt. I pulled my hair up into a ponytail, added some makeup and grabbed the keys to my car. My car was a silver Mercedes, a Christmas present from Charles last year. I rarely drove it (normally Earl did that) but I felt inclined to do for myself today.

The sun was bright and the air was comfortable. I drove down the highway and 20 minutes later I was nearing the area of the club. It would have been nice if I had remembered the name of it, but considering my mind was on other things last night, I couldn't really blame myself.

I rounded the corner and saw a building with the name WAVE in big nondescript letters. I parked across the street and watched for a few minutes, wondering if this was the right place or not. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, kicking myself for not even remembering where we were last night.

Finally, I decided to get out and walk to the front of the building. There was a sign that read "open daily from 7pm until 2am". I cupped my hands over my face and tried to look through the glass. It was dark, but a dim light looked to be on in the back. I saw a shadow for a moment and knocked on the door.

"We're closed!" A deep voice yelled from the back.

"Sorry! I left something here last night!" I yelled back through the door. I saw the figure move towards me inside. I smiled and my heart skipped a beat when I realized it was Trey.

"Hey!" He said. He pointed to the left. "Go around the corner to the service door! I'll meet you there!" He nodded his head and pointed to the left. I nodded in confirmation and made my way to the left. I saw the steel door open and Trey popped his head out.

"Well, well. If it isn't the Birthday Girl Reagan." He said, holding the door open for me to come inside. It was dark, and it took my eyes a second to adjust. I took off my sunglasses and Trey laughed.

"Doesn't look like you had enough fun last night."

"Very funny." I said, laughing. "I actually left my credit card here last night. I was wondering if I could get it back?"

"Yeah. I turned around and you were gone." He sauntered back to the bar. "I was hoping you were going to say goodbye." He rustled in the paperwork on the bar, searching for my card.

"Look, I appreciate it, but I am married." I said, waving my left hand around.

"Yeah, and?" He said, pulling the card from the pile. "What does that have to do with it?" I stared at him blankly. I think I offended him. Oh god, he wasn't making a pass. I am such an idiot. I stammered on.

"I mean, well, I mean that I am just married. That's all. I just want you to know."

"Okay then, married Reagan. Here is your card, as promised." He handed it to me and his hand grazing mine. I jumped and made an ‘oh' noise. I blushed and turned away, stashing the card into my purse.

"Thanks." I said.

"Is there a problem?" Trey asked, now leaning against the bar, his arms folded in front of him.

"What do you mean?"

"You seem awfully jumpy." He tried to contain the smile he had growing.

"Its just, well, it's just that I am a little uncomfortable here with you."

"Is it because I'm black?" He asked, his smile fading. "I know women like you. Have this thing with big black men."

"God no!" I said, smiling. "It's just that, well, when you put a person in a certain environment, they behave in ways they normally wouldn't."

"So, that means your gonna start mopping or something?"

"No." I felt like a huge idiot.

"Then what's the deal? I thought you liked me." Trey grabbed a glass and filled it with ice and then poured some rum and coke into it.

"I do." I said. "But, you know…"

"Yeah, you're married." He lifted his glass to me as if to offer me one. I shook my head. He drank it down.

"Yes. And, for the record, I am not like ‘other women'. What did you mean by that anyway?"

"Well, there are 3 types of white women." He ticked off the first with a finger. "There is the white woman who is rich, powerful and can't stand to look at a brother. Black people disgust them. Then there is the white woman who thinks she can ‘fix' black folk, men, and bring them up from the ghetto or something. Then, there are the women who just want to fuck us." I nearly choked. I covered my mouth while I coughed. Trey looked more than amused, and smiled while he refilled his glass.

"So, which one are you?" He asked, filling me a glass full of water.

"I, uh, I, um, I don't think I am any of those."

"Of course you are." He said. "Every white woman falls into one of those categories."

"Look," I said, starting to get annoyed. "I am not any type of woman. Yes, I am rich, and yes, I am white, but why can't I be in a category of appreciating and enjoying the company of a black man, black people? I do have black friends you know."

"And what would you be appreciating?"

"Well, a lot of things."

"Like?" He was still smiling, enjoying torturing me. "Let's focus on me, for example. What types of things do you appreciate and enjoy about me?"

"Your kind, for one." I said, patting my purse. "Two, your attractive and you seem smart enough to keep up with my banter."

Trey scoffed. "Only attractive? Not smoking hot, sexy, gorgeous?"

"Well, you are very attractive."

"Okay, so that's a start. What else?"

"I don't know." I said, beginning to become frustrated. "Why do you want to know? I am sure your girlfriend worships you."

"My girlfriend? What makes you think I have a girlfriend?" Trey asked.

"Well, I'd assume a guy of your attractiveness must have a girlfriend."

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Have a girlfriend I mean." He paused. "I also have a white lover."

Again, I choked. Damn this man! I was going to end up with needing an oxygen tank and paramedics.

"Excuse me?" I said, "Why is this information you feel you need to share?"

"Well, I figured I'd put it out there. Let you know you have a chance to fuck me."

Was this guy for real? I stood still, offended by his openness, yet extremely intrigued. Whatwould it be like to fuck Trey? Oh my god, what was I thinking? I looked at Trey who was still standing in that commandeering way, waiting for a response. Whichever one I gave, I am sure he had a quick and witty response waiting. I calmed myself.

"What in the world makes you think that I want to fuck you?" I said.

"Well, for one, last night in the bar, you wouldn't have let me kiss you." He held up his hand when I tried to respond. "Second, you responded to that kiss as if no one had ever kissed you in your life. And third, you are here, now, alone with me." I breathed slowly, feeling a sensation in my stomach that I hadn't felt in a long time. It was a feeling of anticipation, greed and wantonness. I licked my lips. Shit. How was I supposed to handle this?