Chris & Sylvia - Jason & Blair Ch. 01byParisWaterman©
It all began the night Chris Hutchens went to an old hangout called Tini Bigs Lounge. The long windows of Tini Bigs faced 1st Avenue, but the bar was entered through the lobby of a fancy retail arcade on Denny Way, where headless mannequins posed elegantly in the windows. There was also Gold's health club at which he worked out on occasion in the basement. Chris recalled with amusement that the fitness freaks stayed there, working out long after his group -- comprised of racquetball and tennis buffs --- had finished their self-imposed hour of lifting weights. Then, with without exception, they showered and beat a hasty retreat to Tini Bigs for tequila and cigarettes and to see if their strict physical regimen would yield any benefits more immediate than just good health.
The crowd was all suits. Some prowled the tumbling scene around the bar, a long, arc of granite and wood. Others settled in for the evening at the narrow tables in the slate loft, suspended overhead amid the rising noise and smoke.
A chorus rose up as he entered. "Hey Baby! What's happening?" One crowed. "Whusssup?" shouted another.
"Where you been for Chrissake?" This came from a well dressed man sitting at the mahogany bar. This was Jason Salter, a banking executive Chris had known for several years. Salter was married to an exhibitionist named Cara and Chris had joined them a time or two in their spacious bedroom.
"Still banging all the good-looking nurses?" Salter called out in a gregarious tone, not caring who heard him.
"Christ, I thought you got over that when ya left the hospital?"
Salter put an arm around Chris after shaking his hand.
"Anytime I get over a good-looking nurse, I try to bang her, you ought to know me by now," Chris said with a wicked grin.
"Come on, sit down, have a pop," Salter said invitingly.
There were two women beside the stool he'd briefly vacated in rising to greet Chris, one in her late thirties, the other slightly older, both with big hair and bright manicures. Both were smoking cigarettes and pleasantly drunk. Divorcees, Chris guessed. Neither wore a wedding ring and both seemed somber despite their good cheer. One of them, Sylvia, he recalled, somewhat thinner and darker than her companion, began focusing on him a few minutes after their brief introduction.
Like a flower turning toward the sun, Chris leveled his best smile at her.
Sylvia began asking him questions and tossed her hair back from her face so she could give him her full attention. He made a couple of off color jokes and Sylvia and her friend rattled in delight.
After one particular rattle, he noticed Sylvia had laid her hand on his arm. He turned back to Jason and asked, "So what's going on here?"
"Same old," Jason answered. "Your friend, the one you used to call S.B.D . . ." Jason paused for effect, "well, she's been coming in."
"Oh, yeah?" Chris said raising an eyebrow in remembrance. "Tell her I said howdy."
He tilted his glass back and watched the bubbles rise. "S.B.D.," he said softly and smiled, "I'll be damned."
"Short black dress," Salter told Sylvia when she asked.
"Hey, remember Kauffman?" Jason said as an afterthought.
"Yeah, how's he doing? Didn't he get married again a while back? What was it, a year or so?"
"Right, it's his third time," Salter said, looking into the mirror behind the bar, "An Iranian girl."
"I remember her," Chris said, "Black hair, long black hair. She's the one --- glows in the dark."
Salter laughed hard. "That's her! Damn you've got her pegged."
Sylvia, with a puzzled expression on her face asked, "Glows in the dark?"
Salter, still laughing, supplied the answer. "Glows in the dark, she's got implants."
"Oh, my God!" Sylvia crowed, "Implants!" She faked a slap at Salter's shoulder, saying, "That's awful. That's awfully clever. I've got to remember that one for a couple friends."
By the time she'd finished speaking; Sylvia was fully entwined with Chris. Her arm was wrapped around his possessively, and she'd drawn him close as she sat on the polished barstool. Her knees, on which her nylons shone, were parted, and Chris's hip occupied the resulting space.
As Jason began telling an off-color joke, Chris began to get an erection; and as Jason prattled on saying, "There are these two homosexuals named Cecil and Scott who were living together."
Sylvia's knees widened the space and Chris pressed his erection against her thigh and watched her lick her lips.
"It was stinking hot one day and Cecil arrived home to find Scott with his ass in the freezer," Jason continued.
Sylvia didn't look at Chris but clamped her thighs, pinning him in place.
"Scott! What are you doing with your ass in the freezer?" Salter roared; he was a highly animated storyteller and proud of it.
Chris's hardon reached full size and he started to slowly hump Sylvia's leg. She squeezed him tighter.
Salter delivered the expected punch line. "And Scott replied, "It was so hot outside I thought you'd like something cool to slip into!"
A huge burst of laughter rippled through the four of them at the bar; then Chris turned to Sylvia and quietly asked if she'd like to join him for dinner.
"I'd love too," she mouthed, avoiding being heard in the din of the bar. They made their excuses and left minutes later.
Salter watched them go; then turned to the remaining woman next to him. "That Chris, he sure is something with the ladies. What was your name again sweetie?"
They had dinner and gotten comfortable with one another. Afterwards in his Mercedes they were silent for a while as Chris maneuvered through the dwindling traffic in the darkened streets. At a stoplight, they were caught under a flickering mercury lamp.
Sylvia broke the silence, smiling wearily as she said, "Glows in the dark?"
"Look," he said, having decided not to smile as he spoke, "We can make each other happy. I can be great for you and you can be great for me. And for an hour or so, we can LOVE each other for it."
He'd gotten caught up and looked across to her in the dark car. There was something soft on the radio and she found herself unable to answer him.
"It's just when it's over," he said, and looked directly at her. She was nervously rubbing her hands together. "By the end it just never seems to work out. I keep trying and I guess you do the same."
Sylvia was nodding in agreement. "I think I'd be comfortable with you," Sylvia said softly.
"You know your wines, I expect you know your women."
"We're almost to your place Sylvia . . ."
"Yes, turn right at the next block." She was losing control, would he just let her off, she wondered?
"So where . . ."
"I said turn at the corner . . ."
She knew he was going to dump her at her door. 'Damn it!' she thought and almost bit her tongue to keep the words from popping out.
"So where shall I touch you first?"
Sylvia felt a tide of emotions rush through her body.
"W . . . what?"
"Shall I come up behind you and put my palms on your hips?"
"O . . . oh?"
"Perhaps you like having your breasts touched in a certain way? I mean, barely touching them for example. Or, grazing over them, like a soft, gentle breeze."
"Oh . . ."
"Just a hint of what's to come, so that your nipples get so hard it's a little painful in your bra."
"They . . . they're hard now."
"So am I. Want to see?"
"Stop the car!"
The sound of a zipper opening filled the Mercedes as he pulled into a parking space.
"Okay, we're parked Sylvia."
"I know, I know. I'm two doors down.
"Want to touch me now or inside?"
"Ohhhh . . . you've got me so fuckin' hot, Chris!"
"I take my time Sylvia. I don't care for the strip-down-and-do-it stuff, like there's a meter going in a cab."
Somehow they managed to leave the car and find there way into the stairwell of her apartment.
"I'm on the second floor," she managed before his hand was tracing a circle on the back of her knee, freezing her in place.
His other hand went around her waist and he resumed talking. "I take my time Sylvia, some people go through this buildup, and then it's, 'Hey, let's get it over with.' I take my time. The skirt, the blouse, I like the layered effect."
The hand around Sylvia's waist was moving down her front. The other was moving up the back of her thigh. Sylvia was shivering with anticipation.
"I like to say hello to each new part like it's a jewel. Hey, look at this elbow!"
Sylvia sucked in her breath; then realized she had forgotten how to breathe.
Chris kept right on . . . "This shoulder; this breast. Then something sudden, maybe I slide my tongue halfway down your ear . . ."
Sylvia moaned long and loud on the stairs as the hand under her dress found her and pushed into her through her panties. Her hand reached back and tried to find him. His finger kept probing, as he positioned himself so she could touch him. And she did, sinking to her knees on the stairs; she took him into her mouth and sucked deeply, laving her tongue around him. Her dress was above her waist and his hand reached into her panties and caressed her ass. She trembled as his finger traced the cleft of her ass until he'd located her anus. Sylvia sucked harder. She just wanted to stroke and suck on his smooth, hard manhood before sticking it inside herself.
He kept talking. "Everyone's different when it comes to, you know, the little mannerisms of pleasure. Like, hard or slow. Touch me here, but not there. Oh, that's lovely, by the way, lovely."
He was silent for a moment and only the wet sound of Sylvia's slurping could be heard. His finger wormed its way into her rectum, forcing her to displace his cock and say, "My God that feels good! I love it, please don't stop."
"I once knew a girl couldn't come unless I had my finger up her fanny. Are you that way too?"
"I . . . don't . . . fuckin' know!" She grunted. "But I like what you're doing. I like it very much."
"That's good, I aim to please and you're doing very nicely yourself. There was another one couldn't get off unless I rubbed my dick on her titties. Do you like that?"
Once again she popped him from her mouth to answer his question. "Never did that, but my tits are sensitive to the touch . . . if you want we can try that too, but shouldn't we get inside?"
"Now that tells me you're not into screwing in public."
"Not since college, baby!" She laughed brusquely. "There's too much to lose if you're caught at it. Help me up will ya, my knees are a little wobbly."
They laughed at themselves as they walked up the stairs.
Back at the bar, Jason Salter had his hand on Blair's knee and the conversation as it usually does in such instances, got around to sex.
"Sorry," Blair said, "I just don't sleep around."
"Where do you sleep?" He countered, and made her laugh. Jason signaled the bartender for another round and then suggested that they move to a booth for more privacy.
Blair was quick to agree and rose to stand alongside Jason, measuring his height and physique furtively as women are prone to do. That is as opposed to men, who stare unabashedly at times at attractive women.
When the drinks arrived, Jason handed the bartender a twenty, told him to keep the change and guided Blair to a booth in the rear of the bar, where a small partition afforded them a degree of privacy.
They sat next to one another and his hand quickly found her knee again and meeting no resistance, inched higher until only a hand's width from her crotch.
"So Blair, are you really a redhead?' He began, hoping she was.
"C'mon, what do you think?" she responded with a sparkle in her eyes before taking a sip from her cocktail.
"I was hoping . . ."
"Well I'm sorry to dash your hopes but no . . . I'm a natural brunette who got tired of chestnut hair several weeks ago and . . ."
"My wife has chestnut hair," he told her.
Blair laughed. "Thanks, most guys don't bother mentioning their wives to me."
"I don't see why not. What I mean is, I could bring you home with me and my wife, her name's Cara, by the way, would be happy to see you."
"That's highly unusual," Blair said, then caught herself as the realization of what he'd said hit home. "Um, you mean . . ."
"We're swingers, Blair, have been for some time. Do you go both ways?"
"Boy you're moving fast," she said and took a gulp from her drink.
Salter said nothing, but scrutinized her face for any tell tale evidence Blair might inadvertently reveal.
"I . . . um, got my divorce from Charley about seven months ago. Look, Jason, you seem like a nice guy and the other guy made a good impression on Sylvia . . ."
"I mean, um can we slow this down a little? I'm getting confused and when I get confused I tend to avoid making any meaningful decisions, ya know?"
"Does that mean you have some attraction to me?" He asked bluntly.
"Um, yeah, I mean, you seem like a nice guy and all, but . . ."
"You're repeating yourself, Blair.
She appeared chagrined and confused. "Oh, sorry," she said. He wondered if she was drunk.
"Besides," Salter cooed, "we're only having a polite conversation over drinks, right?"
"Right," she readily agreed, then finished her drink. Salter took a long drink of his and got up from the booth.
"Where are you going?" Blair inquired with concern. Salter immediately surmised that she was accustomed to being mistreated by men and said, "Another round?"
"Um, I don't think so. I'm getting a little woozy and . . ." But he had left to go to the bar.
On returning to the table he didn't sit but put the drinks down and asked her if she'd like to dance.
Blair was delighted he'd asked. She had not danced in ages and smoothly moved into his arms as the jukebox played an ancient Tommy Edwards hit titled, "It's All in the Game."
Salter liked the way Blair rested her breasts against him and as his erection grew, let her sample it a few times by lightly brushing it against her thigh.
"You're a good dancer," she said, complimenting him. It had been eons since she'd last danced with a handsome man.
"I might say the same about you too, Blair. The music changed to a Cuban salsa and their dancing got dirtier. As he spun her around Jason noticed the bar was almost empty and he pulled her close, ensuring his cock was just between her legs and pressed against her mons. "So . . . you like dirty dancing, sweetheart?"
"Mmmm, I guess, but especially with a good dancer like you."
He bent and kissed the nape of her neck and she shuddered. Then he whispered into her ear, "We could have such a dirty affair, with no one the wiser."
The remark meant her girlfriend would never hear of it from him. She didn't reply and when the music ended they returned to the booth.
His hand returned to her thigh and she laid her hand on his and gave it a light squeeze.
"Nobody would know?" Blair asked, looking him in the eye.
He delicately raised his hand, with hers still upon it and pressed in on her pussy.
"No one," he whispered, "Not one fuckin' soul."
He felt her tremble and moved his middle finger up and down what he perceived to be her slit.
"Are you wet?" He asked.
"What do you think?" she replied teasingly.
"I think it's been a long time since you've been laid properly."
"What would your wife say?"
"If we went to my place? Probably, "May I join the two of you?"
"You're kidding, right?"
"I'm serious. But she would also let us do it without her if you wanted it that way."
"I . . . I'm having trouble with this conversation."
"In what way?" he asked, knowing exactly what she meant. And he sent his hand under her dress between her legs, which parted sufficiently to give him access to her sopping wet cunt. She shivered and Jason decided to fuck her on a full stomach at a nearby motel.
"Food then," he said. "I know a nice place just a block away."
Ten minutes later they were seated in an old neighborhood Italian restaurant.
Jason's hand maneuvered its way back to her thigh, reaching higher this time.
"My, you're awfully confident aren't you?"
"I do something wrong?"
"I guess not," she said and felt herself flushing.
He lifted his glass of wine, "So, here's to us."
"I'm not sure I should be drinking, or what I'm drinking to."
"Oh, come on, Blair. You're a big girl and big girls have needs, don't they?"
"Um, I suppose . . ."
He reached out, rubbed his thumb over her cheekbone.
Her heart stuttered. Annoyed at herself, she exhaled slowly. "Jason, I want to make it clear that I'm not interested in getting involved in any threesome.
"Why don't we just wait and see what develops?"
The waitress delivered their antipasto. "Ready to order?" she asked.
Flustered, Blair picked up the leather bound menu. "I'll have the spaghetti," she said.
"Make it two."
They talked over pasta and red wine, over cappuccino and cannoli until the candle in the bottle next to them began to flutter and the jukebox went silent. The restaurant was empty.
"Is it that late?" she said with a surprised expression on her face.
"They close early here. Its in the middle of the business district, 8:30 is late for them. We're keeping them open."
"Shall we be on our way?" he said sliding out of the booth.
Blair followed him and watched as he left a fifty-dollar bill to cover what had to have been a twenty-five dollar meal.
Once outside she turned to him. He met her eyes. Flustered, she groped for something to say, "Where did you have in mind?"
"Well my place is out of bounds, so I thought we might pay a visit to this quaint motel about four miles from here. We can take your car and you can drop me off or I can catch a cab. It doesn't matter."
"Is it really that easy?" She said.
Blair changed her mind and decided not to be a bitch. She liked him and needed a man. Instead she smiled at him and said, "You were right about the food, it was fabulous."
But her smile faded as he reached out and cupped the nape of her neck in his hand. He held her there, his eyes on hers as he closed the distance between them. The kiss was slow, deliberate and devastating. She'd expected a harsh, hungry mouth on hers; perhaps that was why the soft, lazy romance of the kiss disarmed her so completely. She lifted a hand to his shoulder, but rather than easing him away, as she had intended, her fingers dug in and her heart took a long, seamless somersault before it thudded against her ribs. 'I'm gonna get laid,' she realized, 'I never . . .'
He deepened the kiss. Here was heat and the undeniable promise of much more. Then he eased her away. Her eyes blinked open, he ran a finger down her cheek and smiled at her as she waited open-mouthed for another of his kisses.
"But . . ."
Tell me if I'm right . . . now don't lie to me."
"But . . ."
"If I kiss you right now in two minutes we'll be humping like rabbits right here. Let's get in my car."
Still confused, but regaining her humor, she asked, "And how big is this back seat you're leading me too?"
"Big enough for us," he said his white teeth gleaming in the low lighting. "But we're going to use the bed at the motel."
"Does your wife know what's going on? Promise me she won't be joining us."
"We can go to a motel just as easily if you like." His finger slithered into her and Blair drew in her breath as the wanton pleasure that scorched her nervous system.
"A motel would be fine," she said, "but my place is only a few blocks away," and then fondled his erection for the first time.
"You've got a big one don't cha? She giggled.