Ben Meir, a firefighter so very far from Kansas, tapped his fingers nervously along the padded handrail inside the elevator. Even the Muzak seeping out of the speakers didn't settle his jitters. Attending a fire safety trade show, Ben wasn't concerned about the conference; there was another show he was more interested in.
When the elevator's doors opened, he walked down the casino's aisle with its garish mauve carpet with gold and brown swirls, passed rows of slot machines toward the lounge and his good fortune waiting at the bar. She told him to meet her there. Slowing his approach as he entered, his eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he nervously scanned the bar until he found her. He wove his way through busy tables 'til he slid into a chair beside her.
Her black hair flowed over her left shoulder and fell seductively across her chest. A black gown strained to contain her ample breasts. The slit of her gown opened to display mile-long legs and tan skin peeked over the welt of her stocking. She sipped her drink and then smashed a Marlboro in the ashtray.
"Been waiting long?" Ben asked as he scooted closer.
"No, but I was wondering where you went. Your drink is getting warm."
"Just checking on my daughter."
"And the bitch?"
"Lucy, she's the mother of my children. I don't like it when you call her that."
"Perhaps a wrong choice of words on my part. But I wonder, Ben, can she do this?"
Lucy gripped his neck and met his lips in a passionate kiss, twining her tongue around his. She tasted of vodka and stale cigarettes, but even that didn't matter. He dropped his hand on her knee, and moved his fingertips along her stockinged thigh 'til they touched the soft bare skin with the alluring promises of more to come. Lucy was simply intoxicating.
This wasn't a chance meeting or a lady of the evening. No, they knew each other firefighter and cop. Ben tried to consider the ethnics of what he was doing. But, Amanda didn't want to be the wife he needed. It was reasonable. No one would get hurt; especially Amanda, and he'd have Lucy.
In a minute of self-consciousness, he drained his glass and fixed his gaze on her dark, sensual eyes. He loosened his tie and tapped his glass on the bar. Ben's eyes followed the swell of her breasts as she leaned her head over to one side allowing her hair to fan seductively across her right shoulder.
Draining her drink, she placed her glass next to his with exaggerated care. Lucy slid her almost too-delicate fingers with their red nails across his tie; she pulled it and Ben to her lips. She gave him a kittenish smile the kind she knew would scatter his lingering doubts. She pulled him closer and scrunched her brow. "Come here," Lucy murmured. "I know what you'd love to do that the bitc " She clipped her word short.
"What?" Ben grew uncomfortable. He wasn't used to being the prey.
"You'd like to fuck my ass. That's what you'd like "cause you can't get that at home."
For a moment, he said nothing. "Um—well, yeah I thought "bout it."
She allowed his tie to slowly slide through her fingers. "You're not in Kansas anymore." Lucy slipped off the stool.
He followed her out of the lounge like a small boy following a puppy. Her impossibly high heels caused her calves to tighten; the cheeks of her ass moved with her cadence. They walked to the rows of elevators, and she pushed the call button. Just as the doors closed, Lucy leaped into his arms, and wrapped her legs around his waist. By the time the doors reopened, Lucy's gown was around her hips. Her breasts pushed over the top of her bra with Ben's face buried between the swells of her tits. All the sensations felt right, and Ben carried her out of the elevator to their room. She held her shoes over her shoulder by their straps.
The card key swiped. Her Jimmy Choos clunked on the floor. A stocking tossed in the air. On her knees, she unzipped him and pulled out a nicely proportioned cock. She held Ben in her hand. He was scorching hot and urgent. She closed her eyes and sucked, rolling his balls. Ben grabbed her hair and jerked her head into his crotch. His hips thrust and she swiped the tip of her tongue across the head. His cock twitch and he thickened against her tongue. She gripped the base of his dick and twisted the short brown hairs. Ben rose up.
"Oh, don't you cum yet," Lucy cooed, prolonging his excitement. She placed his cock between her breasts and slipped its saliva-smeared head across her nipples. "You know what you want don't you?"
Ben snatched Lucy up and tossed her over the arm of a chair. She was wet for him. Wanting him. Needing him. Her pussy throbbed as he lowered her.
His hands moved down the front of her panties and cupped her. She gave a low, lewd moan as Ben pushed the flimsy nylon into her wet pussy. His fingers dance on her clit, and she rolled her hips. His other hand pinched a nipple. Lucy's pussy flooded.
Lucy watched his reflection and the fiery lust that filled his eyes on the dimmed-out TV screen. Her breasts swayed as he lifted her ass higher. On tiptoes now, the cheeks of her ass tightened. A large, hot hand slid along the underside of a stockinged thigh and up over the back of her butt.
Lucy's voice, low and seductive, urged him on. "First times cowboy, are always the best." His other hand stroked her long, black hair, and then jerked hard.
"You like it rough?" Lucy squirmed. His fingers probed her wetness. "Answer me!" Ben grew intense. She felt the end of his cock push up between her buttocks.
She grabbed his cock and squeezed hard 'til she could tell he was in pain. She released her grip. "I can take it as hard as you got!" Lucy pushed her ass against Ben's cock.
Two fingers worked into Lucy's cunt, drowning in her wetness. Ben smeared her juice over his red, swollen head. The intense heat of his cock's head pressed against her puckered asshole. "Christ! Ben! Do me!" Lucy screeched.
Ben yanked her head back. Beads of sweat pooled on her back. The lingering soapy perfume of her shower filled his head. Ben caught his breath. "Tell me you want it!"
Lucy dug her fingernails into the arm of the chair. "Fuck my ass, cowboy! If you're man "nuff."
Lucy's body lurched as Ben slammed home. "Jesus!" Lucy bucked. He waited a second or two as she got use to him inside her, then he pushed again, harder than before. The next stroke was even deeper. The hot, tingling sensation of an impending orgasm built inexorably in the center of Ben's gut. His hips moved faster. His hands pulled at her nipples. Ben stopped moving and his hips jerked as his cum filled Lucy's hot ass.
Lucy's hair fell across her back. Her legs quivered, and she slid to the floor. He picked the stocking off the floor, wiped cum from his manhood, and then tossed the soiled stocking on her leg. He glared at Lucy and then at the stocking. "Put it on!" Ben commanded.
Lucy arched her foot and slipped the silky stocking over her toes and wiggled it passed her thigh. "There you go, cowboy," Lucy purred while she ran her fingers over her thighs. "Turns you on, doesn't it?"
"I'm no cowboy. I don't ride horses; I put out fires."
"Who said my fire's out?" Lucy rolled over on her back and spread her legs.
Ben pushed her legs up and lowered his head between her legs. With one hand his fingers spread her pink lips open and his tongue flicked the top of her clit. Lucy's legs clamped closed, her fingers dug deep into the plush carpet. Her legs wrapped around Ben's body. Another lick and Lucy arched her back. His tongue darted in and out of her hot sex tasting her sweetness. She clawed at his back pressing his face deeper into her pussy. Lucy's clit was no match for Ben's tongue and she exploded. Lucy shuddered and her eyes rolled back. Ben rolled off and allowed her to come down.
After all the planning and lies, it boiled down to twenty minutes in a Las Vegas hotel room. Ben pulled his boxers on, scanned the mini-bar, and realized he needed another drink.
"Too late for second thoughts, lover," Lucy said as she rummaged through a suitcase. She slipped on a fresh pair of panties. "It'll be our last time, you know. I've got to catch the next flight back to Kansas."
"I know. I'll be leaving in the morning."
Lucy walked toward Ben like a long sleek black cat. Her breasts, large and full, defied gravity. She palmed her tits, cupping them and sliding a fingertip across each nipple. Ben stood trance-like, as Lucy pushed her breasts against his bare, tanned chest. Without a word, Lucy's hand darted inside Ben's boxers to his limp cock. "I've always enjoyed watching a guy stroke himself off. I'm leaving in few hours." Lucy could feel Ben's cock stiffened.
Ben pulled her hand from his boxers. The idea was tempting. To be put on display, while a woman watched was exciting different something Amanda would never ask. Ben thought about it and he somehow managed to put his hand inside his boxers. He moved his hand around his member and gave it a few short strokes. Lucy watched as his hand moved up and down his hardened cock. "Ooh!" Fell from Lucy's lips, and then a hot surge of wetness soaked her panties.
"I think," Lucy said as she wiggled Ben's boxers down his thighs. Lucy wrapped her hand around his fingers and buried her fingertips deep into the short brown hair. She gave him a few quick strokes before she withdrew her hand. "It would be a fine going home present."
Ben's hand made a few long half-hearted strokes then quickly removed his hand. "Not this time," Ben said reluctantly while he tugged his boxers up.
"Too bad. That would have been so much fun," Lucy said as she turned toward the bathroom. "There's something "bout watching a guy get himself off." Lucy licked her lips. "I love to watch."
Within the hour, Lucy was on the airport shuttle to catch the redeye to Kansas. Ben's flight wasn't 'til morning, and somehow his hotel room turned into purgatory. He knew what he did with Lucy was wrong. But he kept telling himself that no one would get hurt. Lucy was a cop in another district. It was a one-time thing, that's all. Christ, he rationalized; she's getting married next week. Maybe he could drink himself into a stupor and wake up without a nagging feeling of broken trust. Ben laughed coldly. Mistrust, he scoffed. Amanda had issues, but she'd never break a promise a marriage vow. Another drink burned his throat as it went down.
About a week after he returned from Vegas, Amanda found a stocking clinging to the inside of his pants that he wore to Vegas. Ben confessed to an affair. Bristling with wounded pride and cheeks flushed with righteous indignation, Amanda threw him out of the house.
Now, Ben tapped his fingers against the armrest of the old wooden chair he sat on. As he looked around the office, he saw an industrial gray metal desk that served as the focal point in the Spartan, nondescript room. Someone left the door ajar and he heard the routine sounds of the clinic. There was the mechanical purr of a floor scrubber, the muted click-clank of a dozen keyboards and the shuffle of the cleaning staff as they pushed dustpan and broom. Down the hallway, muffled voices could be heard. The squeak of the door's hinges caused Ben to glance over his shoulder. Gold rings adorned a black hand that clutched the door's edge, and wiggled it while an unseen voice boomed out of sight.
Ben wiped his sweaty palms on the front of his best black dress pants. Whoever held that door scared Ben, and Ben wasn't easily frightened. After all, he ran into burning buildings when normal people were running out. But that hand, that voice, rattled Ben.
The door opened, and a short, buxom African-American woman walked over to the desk; her floral print dress rustled with every step. At last—Ben thought.
"Good morning, Mr. Meir. I'm Mrs. Frederick."
Ben stood and smiled. "Just call me Ben."
Mrs. Frederick walked passed the gray desk over to the window without saying another word. Ben returned to his chair. He felt the coldness in her voice. He knew the door he walked through thirty minutes ago wasn't leading him to a made-for-TV Walt Disney movie. He was down the rabbit hole way down the rabbit hole.
Mrs. Frederick reached up and rattled the curtain rings on the rod spreading the curtains open, and the room flooded with the light of a fine new spring day. "Another day is beginning. Another beginning, Ben." Mrs. Frederick wheeled out a red leather chair, gently pushed the back of her dress to her butt, and sat.
"Amanda is fine. But you're here because you're part of the reason that woman is in my clinic. That was a close one. Practice if you will. Most people who are suicidal are scared and confused. They want to know how it's going to feel to die. I'm sure that Amanda had no plans to take her life that night. It was a cry for help, and it's my job to help her. It's your job, too."
While Mrs. Frederick didn't come out and say it, he knew what she meant. Amanda tried to take her life. Ben didn't like that word suicide. To him, the word sounded filthy. It was a word from the vocabulary of the weak. Amanda had problems, but she wouldn't take her life. Sure, things have been rough, but Amanda was strong enough, or so Ben thought.
He heard Mrs. Frederick as she shot out routine questions like a well-oiled machine gun. He didn't remember answering. All he could remember was two nights ago. He was on duty, and around one in the morning, the call came in. Possible overdose. Nothing unusual about those calls; they came in all the time. But Ben's life changed on that cold spring morning. When the squad arrived, Amanda was inside her car, slumped over the steering wheel, an empty prescription bottle lying on the passenger seat.
Amanda told Ben that it hurt too much to go on. He shook off the warnings. An affair doesn't make people take their lives. Amanda was too smart for that too damn smart.
Ben squirmed in his chair.
Mrs. Frederick smirked as she selected a yellow folder from a stack on her desk. Ben watched her eyes as she read. She placed the folder down. "Nothing new here." Mrs. Frederick pushed away from her desk, walked around to the front, and leaned her ample derriere onto it. "I hate being lied to. Amanda told me about the affair you had in Vegas. Ben, if you're playing footsies with another woman, walk out that door "cause you're wasting my time." Mrs. Frederick's eyes stabbed Ben. "I don't like men who cheat on their wives."
Ben sat in silence. "Very well. I have your attention now." Mrs. Frederick slid into her desk chair, took out a pen and re-opened the folder. "Tell me, why is your wife in my clinic?"
"Things haven't been right between us for a while. We're both forty-five, and our first date was the high school prom. It was a disaster."
"How so?" Mrs. Frederick's brows lifted, creasing her forehead with small lines.
"It was a dare. A stupid football team dare." Ben's shoes scuffed the carpet. "I was the co-captain of the team." Ben began, "Amanda was stringbean skinny, her hair tied into a knot behind her head or braided. She looked like a housekeeper from the 1800s. She had no boobs. She never, ever wore a dress or skirt, and none of us ever recalled her doing so. She was a tomboy. So much so, that there was talk that Amanda wasn't a girl at all. We thought she was one of the transgender guys."
"And your dare, Ben, let me guess, was to find out if in fact she was a girl."
"Yeah, you're right. I was to ask her to the senior prom and—" Ben stared out the window, his eyes moved restlessly while he contemplated his reply. He let out a long slow breath. "Before the prom was over I was—if Amanda really was a girl, I was to prove it by showing the guys the proof her panties. I didn't want to do that, but I couldn't let my teammates know I was a putz. I have an older sister, and she offered to supply me the necessary garment as proof."
"So your first date was a lie you told Amanda?"
"No, it wasn't a lie. Amanda wasn't much to look at when she was in school. She wasn't ugly. She wasn't pretty. She was, well, just Amanda. She never went out of her way to look like a girl. She was transparent at school. Everyone knew of her, but no one knew her.
"For a young woman, the prom is a turning point in their lives," Mrs. Frederick commented.
"At the prom," Ben continued, "I think it was the first time she ever wore a dress and I know it was the first time she ever wore high heels. She had difficulty walking without stumbling. I couldn't help but laugh. We sat alone in the shadows. Then one of the self-proclaimed beauty queens strolled over, and placed a paper sack on the table beside Amanda. Amanda asked her what it was for, and this snob told Amanda that if she wanted to dance with me, then the sack was for her."
"Oh, Jesus." Mrs. Frederick pushed back into her chair. "Why do people act like that?"
"I grabbed her wrist and told her that Amanda didn't need a sack over her head, but she might consider strapping a 2X4 to her ass so her date won't fall in when he fucked her later that night." Ben's face turned bright red. "Sorry for my French. It still makes me mad."
Mrs. Frederick smiled. "I've heard worst. Lots worst. So what happened then?"
"I took Amanda's hand and asked her for a dance. She begged and pleaded with me not to take her out on the dance floor, as she couldn't dance. I told her to put her arm around me, and we'd sway to the music."
"Did Amanda go with you?"
"If I recall, it took a few more tries but we made it out onto the floor. I remember her head leaning onto my shoulder and I could feel her heart. I thought it was going to explode."
"I imagine that Amanda had a hard time wrapping her mind around what was happening," Mrs. Frederick added.
"The lights were low and the music slow. I reached up and removed a single hairpin. She said no, and I asked permission to continue. She didn't say yes, she didn't say no. I pulled one, then another, and finally the last one free. I arranged her hair around her shoulders."
"Didn't Amanda get mad?"
"No. Well, I guess not. When the music was over and the lights came up, when she looked at me I saw tears in her eyes. I brushed a few away with my thumb. Then in front of that whole damn class I kissed her. And it wasn't a peck on the lips. I kissed her. I cupped her face in my hands and I kissed her. I wasn't about to ruin her time at the prom.
"Why, Ben, I didn't see that coming. You have a warm, soft heart deep down."
"In high school, I had more girls than I knew what to do with. I'd go out on a date and before we'd get two blocks from her house, my date would be naked and giving me oral sex. I liked the romance. I liked the idea that Amanda wasn't going to end up in bed with me that night."
Mrs. Frederick smiled and jotted something down. "It sounds like the prom went off without too much problem."
"After the prom, I took her home; her parents wouldn't allow her to go to the all-night party. We sat on the porch swing, and I confessed. She was horrified but thankful I didn't snatch her panties. I may have kissed her again, and I left."
"What happened then, Ben?"
"Ooh, good God. I went home and changed out of my tux. As I drove back to the high school, my buddies passed me. They where hanging out of the car's windows yelling, "She's a girl! We got proof!' I knew what they did."
Mrs. Frederick lowered her tablet onto her lap. "My God, what did they do?"
Ben picked up his story. "I turned around in the middle of the road, and when I got back to her house, she was lying on the grass, half in shock, half numb. She was displayed so anyone could see her. Her legs were apart, and her panties were gone. One of her shoes was stuck on the mailbox's red flag. Her pantyhose dangled from a tree branch. I remember her bra. It was cut off, and someone tied what was left to her car antenna. On the grass lay a rumpled, torn paper sack. I gathered the remnants of her gown and covered her. About the time I got her to her feet, her parents arrived."