I think everyone needs a 'Jade' at least once in their life. I will never forget mine. Now, neither will you.
"Damn, it hasn't changed a bit."
It had been years since I had been in the old 'Rusty Pecker'. For that matter, it had been years since I had been in town; seven, give or take. Los Angeles had beckoned, and I had answered the call, escaping those brutal Illinois winters once and for all. The same old group was hacking away at NTN's Trivia Challenge. The bartenders and waitresses were all different, of course. The old ones had graduated to more lucrative pursuits, to be replaced by a whole new crop of young, struggling pretty people.
'Pretty people' is what this place was all about. The 'Pecker' was one of the more notorious meat markets in this posh, moneyed, corporate-hub western suburb. Though unspoken, the ideal 'mix' was simple: affluent, generous gentlemen, often of deliberately ambiguous marital status, and the attractive, willing young women who curried their long-term favor. In these liberated times, the genders of the respective roles were becoming more frequently reversed. Rising female corporate 'stars' – and sometimes the bored wives of those affluent, generous gentlemen – were demanding equal access at more than the conference table, and getting it.
I had frequented this place in my earlier, corporate years. It had been fascinating to watch the mating 'dance' play out around me. Many of the women I had seen had been major turn-ons for me. While thoughts of being the attractive male mate to one of them held a definite allure, I had not been blessed at birth with the right 'look'. That, and the accompanying self-esteem issues, had limited my opportunities for advancement within the corporate and social hierarchies. Instead, I had been granted a keen intellect, a thirst for knowledge, and born into a family of high-potential overachievers. Taking stock of my strengths and weaknesses, I left the corporate world behind and struck out on my own.
No moss had gathered since my move to the Left Coast. I had parlayed my engineering and computer skills into a number of ultra-high-tech inventions. After patenting them and leasing the manufacturing rights, the royalties had made me fabulously wealthy. My time and life were, at last, my own. I had returned to that youthful haunt to attend to some unfinished business. I had not come unarmed. There was the money, of course, but more as well. With the help of my latest invention, one that could single-handedly make me inconceivably rich and put a significant segment of the health care industry out of business in one stroke, I had corrected certain inequities of my birthright. Now, it was my time to play....
She was there, as I hoped she would be. Reading between the lines of her web site had led me to expect she still frequented this place. Her presence with a girlfriend also indicated it might be an 'off' night for her, with no prior engagements. The pair had chosen to sit near the lounge entrance, where all men entering could not help but notice them before any other women. She had toned down her appearance considerably, compared to her online persona; no doubt to appease the public sensibilities of this chi-chi community. So had her companion, whom I also recognized from the web site's Sultry Babes photo gallery. Even so, they stood out from the competition like klieg lights among candles. One thing neither had toned down were their elegant, inch-and-a-half, square-cut fingernails. For all the years and all her changes, I could still envision the twenty-something ingénue I had known so long ago.
She had been "Lori Ann" then. We had dated, briefly, in the days we had both toiled for the same corporate monolith. Her prospects at that time had been vastly different than mine. She had 'the look' in spades – and men constantly sniffing around her. I had fallen head-over-heels, like the rest, but I wasn't her type: rich, handsome, confident, successful. We parted almost as soon as we started, but I had never forgotten the magic of being with her – nor my desire to become her type.
I passed by within arm's reach, ignoring her, on my way to an empty table at the other side of the lounge. I knew the scent of my cologne would draw her attention like a magnet. She had given it to me, professing it to be her favorite fragrance on a man. In truth, it – and she – had ruined me for any other cologne. I could feel her eyes drinking in my six-foot, well-muscled frame, long legs, tight ass, chiseled good looks and sandy blonde hair. Knowing her as I did, she would not have missed the Hugo Boss suit, silk shirt and tie, either.
After claiming my table, I slipped out of my suit coat, ordered a Sharkbite and game controller from the waitress, then idly dabbled at my former Trivia passion. I played under my old handle, "Rabbit" and won three consecutive rounds. In between rounds, I stretched, rippling my muscles under the thin, clingy fabric of my shirt. Then, I checked out my surroundings, making eye contact and exchanging smiles with some really attractive women, but studiously avoided looking in Lori's direction.
My empty glass called to me. As I was about to beckon my waitress, she appeared and set a fresh drink before me.
"Compliments of the lady across the way," she said with a beaming smile, pointing in the direction from where I had entered.
Gotcha! I murmured special instructions to the waitress, then turned my attention to my attractive benefactor. Raising my glass, I silently mouthed the words: "Thank you, Lori." She froze in mid-toast, then turned and whispered something to her girlfriend. Both turned to regard me in puzzlement, trying to equate a face with a name – and how I had known hers.
Moments later, the waitress and a bartender appeared at their table. He carried the iced bucket on its tripod stand. She carried two flutes, pronounced a few words, then glanced in my direction. The bartender twirled the dark green bottle in the ice a few times, then held it up for Lori's inspection. She gasped as she read the label. I could vividly see the memory as it played out in her mind. We had been out dancing and I had invited her over for a nightcap. The warming blaze in the fireplace had taken the sting from the cold December evening. The Taitinger Blanc de Blanc had put the moment in soft focus. There had been foreplay, over an hour of cunnilingus and a dozen shuddering orgasms – rewarded by a world-class blowjob. It had been our first time – and our last.
As the bartender uncorked the bottle, her head slowly traversed until her eyes locked on mine. Bee-stung glossy lips silently formed a single word.
I nodded once, and smiled. I raised my glass once again. She and her friend both raised theirs. It seemed Lori couldn't tear her eyes from me. Even at that distance, I could see the light dance on the quivering surface of the champagne in her flute, as the hand that held it trembled. I wanted to give her a moment with her thoughts, so I smiled, slid out of my seat in the other direction, went through the bar and to the rest room.
It wasn't all theatrics; I really had to go. That in itself was a problem. I had a great deal of difficulty extracting my stiff-as-a-board man meat from my pants. Lori had always had that effect on me. Now, after my little 'homme improvement' project, it was harder than ever – no pun intended. After relieving my bladder, I discovered, if taking it out had been difficult, getting it back in was next to impossible. Somehow, I managed to re-sheathe myself down my pant leg. It was anything but comfortable and impossible to camouflage, but at least I could make my way back to the table.
Or so I thought. Lori ambushed me outside the door of the Men's room. Seeing her this close, I was floored at how much she had changed – for the better, if that was possible. I knew her to be in her mid-forties, but she had only become more beautiful with time. It was as though the clock had run backwards for her. She had, no doubt, had professional help in that, and I could not fault her for the results.
I had always favored blondes and redheads, but Lori was a fair-complexioned natural brunette that made my heart do flip-flops the first time I saw her and every time after. On her web site, she frequently did 'redhead' to stunning effect. She had also dabbled with blonde, but I thought the color really hadn't suited her. Her lips were much fuller, plusher than before. Her warm brown eyes had an exotic tucked-back-at-the-corners look. They, with those lips and more prominent cheekbones, worked well with the make-up effects she used on her web site. I wondered if I should tell her I knew of the existence of 'Jade'. I decided I would keep that to myself for now.
I tried hard to keep my eyes above her neckline. After all, I had seen her stunningly-enhanced breasts, sans clothing, in countless digital images. The rest of her – the tiny waist, lush, heart-shaped tush and long, shapely model's legs - was a perfect compliment to the most sensual woman I had ever seen. That vision now stood before me, smiling coyly.
"You didn't have to run," she purred, stepping closer. "I don't bite - at least, not until I'm invited."
"As a matter of fact, I did have to run," I replied glibly. "I'm better now. I should be good for another hour or so."
"At least," she gushed, giving me the once-over. "Look at you. You look younger than when I first met you. And those muscles! You are... different."
"A kick in the nuts is different," I replied evenly. "That doesn't make it desirable."
"I'll be the judge of 'desirable'," she chirped. "As for that kick...."
She pressed her body against mine, one thigh firmly against my crotch. The suddenness of her advance made by breath catch in my throat. Lori had never been shy about going after something she really wanted. That thought thrilled me. I knew her to be five-foot-eight. In the stilettos she was wearing, she was actually about an inch taller than me. If that bothered either of us, we weren't saying a word. When the soft flesh of her inner thigh connected with the hard flesh nestled inside my pant leg, she froze.
"What the..." she exclaimed softly.
One delicate hand started at the junction of torso and leg, tracing the outline of my cock down, down, down... down.
"Oh, my... God," she gasped. "I don't remember that at all. When did you become a Greek god?"
"I... had a little work done," I responded – which wasn't really a lie.
She smiled knowingly at that.
"I know something about having a little work done," she cooed, brushing her fabulous breasts back and forth across my muscled chest. "You like?"
"How could I not?" I replied truthfully.
I don't know how it happened. As she was rubbing her body back and forth against mine, my hand brushed the warm flesh of her inner thigh. At that point, my brain wasn't even engaged. The hand snaked up her thigh on autopilot, reaching under her sinfully-short skirt. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out: a) she was wearing a garter belt and stockings, but no panties, and b) she was soaked.
She moaned softly as I gently brushed her dripping-wet pussy lips with my fingertips. She pressed more tightly against me, forcing my hand harder into her snatch. Her mouth smothered mine. She alternately speared my tonsils with the tip of her tongue and tried to vacuum my organs out through my mouth. She clamped her thighs around my hand as though she would never let go. Her breathing came in short, shallow gasps as she humped my hand. I knew she was close....
"Not yet," I whispered in her ear as I gently, but firmly disengaged our bodies. "I have waited a long time for this, for you. I want it to last."
"You want it to last?" she hissed. "Mister, we are gonna go at it all night. There is no way I'm gonna let this..."
She squeezed my cock hard.
"... get away from me."
I slipped my middle finger up her inflamed pussy to silence her. I stroked her G-spot just as my thumb lightly touched her clit. She sighed expressively and sagged against my hand. It had been a tiny orgasm, not much more than an hors d'oeurve. The glazed, but still-hungry expression in her eyes told me it had been well-received, but she was nowhere near done with me.
We retrieved my suit coat, then returned to Lori's table. She introduced me to her friend, Brianna, who sized me up with a purely predatory lust, as though I was a cut of beef. A warning glance from Lori brought out a small shrug of her shoulders and "who, me?" smile. The after-work crowd had been supplanted by the evening revelers and seating was at a premium. My gorgeous companion used that as a pretext to seat me in her chair, then herself in my lap.
We drank champagne and carried on a three-way conversation. Rather than bother the busy waitresses for another flute, Lori fed me sips of bubbly from her glass. She asked me what I had done with myself in the long interim since we had last seen each other. I related my creative successes, identifying the products I had brought to the marketplace. Several had been advertised heavily on television by the companies who had licensed their production. Lori and Brianna both were amazed I had been behind their inception.
"How much are you worth, Michael?" Brianna asked pointedly.
I had to think about that for a moment, trying to recall the figures my accountants had related the previous week.
"Mid-eight figures currently," I stated, rounding off. "Nine figures within five years. That could change dramatically when my latest opus goes into production. That has potential for mid- to upper-nine figures in the first three years, all by itself."
Two stunning pairs of eyes looked stunned themselves.
Brianna placed her hand gently on mine. Lori slapped it away playfully, a smile on her luscious lips. The look in her eye was something less than playful, and Brianna got the hint.
In the meantime, Lori's free hand surreptitiously stroked my raging hard-on through my pants. Not to be outdone, I managed to gently massage her hard, hot clit under her skirt. It was an erotic delight to bring her to orgasm three times in the middle of a conversation and watch her attempt to maintain a cool composure, as though nothing at all had happened. Her sidelong glances, sly smiles, and firm squeeze on my cock told a different story.
It was inevitable, with all those men present, at least some of them would hit on Brianna. She and Lori seemed to have a sixth sense about the potential suitors, innately knowing which were posers and which the real deal. They seemed to communicate their respective evaluations with nothing more than a glance. From what I could tell, they perceived this night to be heavy on the latter.
I spotted one familiar face at the bar. Robert was now a senior executive with the fast-food giant headquartered down the street. I had first met him early in my career when we had worked together in that company's Information Systems department. We had kept in touch through the years and I knew him to be divorced from his first wife. This guy fit their 'profile' perfectly.
I excused myself for a moment and went to the bar to say hello. We chatted for a few minutes, then I invited him to our table and introduced him to my two gorgeous companions. He was captivated by Lori's blonde girlfriend from the start. I steered the conversation first towards his business and the role he played. Then, I prompted Brianna on some of the funny things that had happened to us in those early years, getting Robert to open up about himself as well. He did not notice me wink at the buxom blonde. Brianna flashed me a smile of pure gratitude, then worked him like a pro.
It became obvious the pair would be leaving together. No one was happier, nor quicker to voice it, than Lori.
"Well," she gushed, looping her arm through mine, "I can see you two are hitting it off famously. If you don't mind, Michael and I have a lot of catching up to do. Robert, you will see to it our girlfriend gets home safe and sound, won't you?"
When he readily assented, pleased to be alone with his 'conquest', we said our goodbyes even as Lori was steering me towards the door.
"It's been a while since I was given the Bum's Rush," I complained good-naturedly.
Lori grabbed me by the arms, spun me around and stared me right in the eye.
"You are not, and never were a bum," she intoned forcefully. "You did have a confidence problem which you seem to have overcome very nicely. I think that's really attractive in a man. Needless to say, I like the way you dress up that gorgeous body, too. What you did back there for Brianna, bringing those two together like that, was the nicest thing I have seen a guy do in years, especially when there was nothing in it for you."
I winced at her reference.
"If I had a dollar," I began, "for every time I have been called a 'nice guy', I would be at nine figures right now."
"What's wrong with being a nice guy?" Lori asked.
"Nothing," I admitted, "but when I am called a 'nice guy', it is usually followed by the woman in question explaining why she won't be seeing me anymore."
"Oh, shut up!" the brunette exclaimed teasingly.
Then, she stared at the carpet, lost in thought.
"There was a time," she began slowly, still staring down, "I might have done exactly that."
She lifted her head to meet my gaze.
"In fact," she admitted quietly, "I think I did."
She took my arm and continued towards the exit.
"Since then," she continued, "I've been with a lot of men who weren't nice - at all. It's amazing how that changes your perspective on what is and is not important. I've had a lot of time to reflect on mistakes I have made. If it means anything, you were right up there."
We stepped out the door into the twilight.
"Now I feel I've been given a second chance," Lori avowed, glancing at my crotch, "in a big, big way. I'm taking it; no regrets expressed, no apologies offered – well, I'm only sorry I had to wait this long."
I handed the valet my tag. Lori lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and exhaled, holding the cigarette in one upraised hand, arm bent at the elbow. Her other arm was crossed beneath her breasts, supporting the first. I had witnessed that elegant, yet disturbing pose dozens of times before. Our eyes met.
"Still?" she asked in exasperation.
This had been an ongoing battle between us before. She knew how much I detested smoking. My father had died from it; my mother almost did. I think our budding relationship of long ago had ended when I had refused her permission to smoke in my RX-7. She hadn't been the kind of girl who accepted refusal for anything. This time – armed with knowledge gleaned from her web site – I simply shook my head.
"We are not going there again," I professed. "My feelings haven't changed a bit, but my attitude has. I know there are a lot of guys out there for whom the sight of a beautiful woman smoking a cigarette is a real turn-on...."
She smiled beguilingly at that, acknowledging nothing.
"You are a big girl now," I continued. "Do what you have to do. I don't think it's your most desirable trait, but I am not going to rant about it anymore. If it means anything to you, I have never seen another woman do it as... attractively as you."
Her smile was warm and genuine this time.
"Thank you for that," she responded. "It means a lot. It means there's hope for all of us – accent on us."