The Bargain with Lucifer

Though he enjoyed having mind blowing sex with Mindy, he felt the words "Strike three" lurking, but pushed it aside for the moment, hopeful there was more to her than a sexy young woman. "How about having a bite to eat with me," he said. "I have some soup I can heat up."

"Yeah, that sounds cool. I'm hungry now," she said, laying back in the recliner wearing only her tank top.

Paul went into the kitchen to heat up the soup, listening to the Oscar Peterson playing. He was wearing only his jeans and no shirt. Stirring the soup, getting some bowls down, he thought about Mindy, hoping he could learn more about her and see what she was interested in, probe her mind, now that he had probed her body.

"Well let's have some soup," he said, bringing the bowls to the table.

She sat down across from him at the kitchen table. "This is a treat. A man who can cook and sweep a girl off her feet," she said.

Paul chuckled, looking at her, aware of how strange it was to have a sexy young woman in his apartment, sitting in his kitchen wearing a tight tank top and nothing else.

"So you're an Oral Hygienist?" Paul asked, trying to think of what they could talk about.

"Yeah for now," she said. "It's okay. I like it, I guess."

"What would you really like to do," Paul asked. "Is there anything you're interested in?"

"Not really,' Mindy said. "I like hanging out with my friends, going to clubs on the weekend, you know, dancing, meeting guys. Sometimes, I think it would be cool to be a model."

Paul sipped his soup, looking at Mindy sitting across from him, thinking about what she was saying about her interests, thinking she was sexy but pretty empty headed.

"Is that it?" Paul asked.

"Well, I like sex...you know that already," she said.

"I know," Paul said, suddenly feeling his erection growing but also wishing they could talk about something more substantial and strained to think of something that would be stimulating, but suddenly, she surprised him by putting her bare foot between his legs and on his growing erection. He looked at her, sitting with nothing on but her tight tank top, her long leg stretched between his legs. He was barefooted and following her lead did the same thing, pressing his foot against her wet mound, turning each other on.

"This is so hot," she said, closing her eyes, pushing herself against his foot.

Suddenly, his lust rising he got up from his chair, quickly moved the bowls to the counter, came back to her then roughly lifted her from the chair, pushed her down on his kitchen table, spreading her legs, looking at her round luscious ass, her wetness dripping down her thighs and without hesitating drove into her, the sound of her screaming exciting him, her hands gripping the kitchen table.

Paul leaned over her back, thrusting as hard as he could, "Take it, you little slut!" he yelled, pounding her, his body slamming against her ass, pushing the table forward with each thrust. He felt her pussy gripping him, her body tensing, trembling then suddenly convulsing in a huge orgasm, "Harder! Harder! Don't stop!" she screamed.

Her shouting and his relentless ramming brought him to the verge of orgasm and suddenly a bolt of energy shot through him giving him more strength and power than he'd ever known. Amazed at his stamina, he kept thrusting harder and harder, aware that Mindy was lying under him unable to move when he gave his final thrust before collapsing on her panting body, feeling dizzy but exhilarated by the lusty wildness he was experiencing now.

"Wow, you're pretty hot for an older guy," Mindy said, once he let her up.

Still gasping for air, Paul sat back on the kitchen chair, his limp deflated penis dangling between his legs looking at Mindy now sitting across from him, her long dark hair a mess, their mingled juices on her thighs, realizing he enjoyed their wild afternoon, but also realized he didn't know what to say to her now that they had fucked like animals.

"Maybe it's time for you to go," he said.

"Oh, are you kicking me out," she said. "I was hoping to spend the night in your bed."

"Maybe some other time," Paul said. "I told you I had an appointment tonight," he added. "Don't take it personally," Paul said, seeing she was pouting.

"Let me stay here and I will be here after your appointment," she said.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Paul said, realizing Alicia probably had plans for them after dinner. "Maybe we can get together tomorrow. Would you like that?"

"Yeah, I guess, if I can't stay here we can meet up tomorrow," she said. "That's okay I guess," she added, still seeming disappointed, still pouting.

Just then his phone rang and he lifted his finger to Mindy indicating he'd be a minute. He picked up the phone and heard Alicia asking if he was coming for dinner.

"Yes," Paul answered, turning his back to Mindy. "I'll be there in twenty minutes. I'm running behind here," he said, feeling a little self-conscious standing in his kitchen with no clothes on.

When he hung up, Mindy was shimmying into her jeans, putting on her sneakers, looking at Paul. He walked her to the door, feeling anxious for her to leave so he could get ready to go down the hall to Apartment 5. She stood close to him, putting her hand on his chest, looking into his eyes, "We're going to have fun together, mister," she said then kissed him."

"Yes, we are," Paul answered with his hand on the door knob. "I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow and continuing where we left off," he said, knowing he wasn't being honest.

When she left, Paul looked over at the reclining chair where he had ravished Mindy, still finding it hard to believe what was happening to him and now he had to gather his wits and get ready to have dinner and what might follow with Alicia.

After a fast shower, remembering his shower fantasy from earlier in the day, he dressed in a pair of tan khaki pants, a green and white striped golf shirt, open at the collar, a hint of his chest hair showing, and went to Alicia's, noticing the room was dimly lit, candles flickering on the table, two plates on the table and soft music playing. Clearly, Alicia was creating the setting for a romantic evening.

"My, my, don't you look handsome in that shirt," she said.

"Thank you," Paul responded, looking at Alicia dressed in a short floral sun dress, cut low, revealing a hint of cleavage and a good portion of her tan legs, her long auburn hair flowing over her shoulders. She came to him holding two glasses of wine, kissed him on the cheek, handing him his glass.

"I'm glad you could come and I promise you we will have an enjoyable evening," she said, clicking his glass with hers, looking into his eyes, letting Paul know she wanted him and she was going all out to make this a memorable night.

And she did. After having a delicious fillet of salmon with a tangy topping and a simple but elegant salad with cherry tomatoes and marinated artichokes, she topped it off with a dense chocolate torte she brought at the gourmet bakery down town and espresso she served in small white cups. After moving to her sofa, it wasn't long before she pulled him on top of her, kissing him madly, their bodies grinding and humping before she pulled him into her bedroom, both ripping off their clothes before falling to the bed for a night of mind blowing sex.

The next morning, after delicious coffee and toast with orange marmalade, Paul returned to his apartment seeing the remnants of his dinner with Mindy on the counter, the salt and pepper shakers and napkins on the floor next to the kitchen table where he remembered taking Mindy like a madman.

"I can't believe what's happening to me," Paul said, shaking his head in awe at the mystery that entered his life, how he felt, looked and, most baffling, how women were looking at him, desiring him and giving themselves to him. He put the Oscar Peterson CD away, picked up a CD of Brahms Intermezzos and put that on while he went back to the kitchen to wash out the soup bowls, wipe the counters, straighten the kitchen chairs, thinking about Mindy's taste in music, shaking his head at the name of the band she mentioned, The Hot Potatoes, wondering if he wanted another hot afternoon with her or whether he should call, "Strike three."

Alicia was a little different and he remembered all the positions they tried during the night, dozing off then waking up, rolling around the bed, how she shouted, "Fuck me, stud!"

"No one ever called me stud before," he thought, "but I never gave women the chance," he said, then remembered his few lapses several years ago just before separating from Evelyn. He sighed, remembering Evelyn, how their sex life died, but remembered they still had great conversations and what a great mother she was to their two sons. She made him laugh with her quirky sense of humor but then he remembered the sudden flair ups where they argued and called each other names, how days would go by when they didn't talk, how sullen and distant they became, but then they would start talking again, having conversations about a book she was reading, how she was studying herbal remedies and how she responded when he read her some of his new poetry, how she nodded, smiled, make astute observations about a line. "Too bad about us," he muttered, shaking his head, shoving his memories of Evelyn away and returned to the present. "That chapter is done," he said, walking to the window and looked down at the pool, noticing three women in bikinis on the lounge chairs, talking to each other.

Deciding to go down and really work on his tan, he put on his maroon bathing trunks, glancing at himself in the mirror, surprised to see his hair didn't look as thin or as white. He grabbed a towel then went bare footed to the same lounge chair he sat in the day before. Rather than taking a swim, he lay down on the chair and closed his eyes, determined to not complicate his life, certain Alicia would be coming down soon to join her friends. He felt the warm sun on his body, enjoying how relaxed he felt and glad none of the women on the other side of the pool seemed to be paying attention to him.

He must have dozed off but was awakened by the little boy tapping his thigh. He opened his eyes and saw a blond haired boy smiling at him.

"Who are you?" the boy asked.

"I'm Paul, who are you?" Paul responded, surprised by the sudden intrusion, but smiled at the boy.

"Alex," he said. I'm five. How old are you?"

"How old do you think I am?" Paul asked, not wanting to say his age but curious what the boy would think.

"I don't know," Alex answered. "You look kind old but I just heard my mom say she thinks you're cute."

"She said that," Paul responded. "That's nice."

Just then a woman in a white bikini ran over to where they were sitting and took the boy's hand. "Alex, you shouldn't be bothering this man," she said, looking at Paul then at her son. "I'm so sorry. Alex just likes talking to people."

"Oh that's okay, I don't mind," Paul said, looking up at the woman, noticing her green eyes, her straight long blonde hair, her tan face and body, her breasts spilling out of her top.

"Mommy, you said he was cute," Alex said.

"Come along Alex, we can't bother this man," she said, closing her eyes then looking at Paul. "I'm sorry he is bothering you," she repeated,

obviously embarrassed.

"That's quite alright. Kids will be kids," Paul said.

"Well, we will be going," she said. "I'm really sorry," she said again, "by the way I'm Tricia."

"Hello Tricia. I'm Paul," he answered.

"Glad to meet you. Well, we'll leave you alone, now," she said, taking Alex's hand and walking away but after a few steps turned and smiled, looking into his eyes. "You are cute," she said, startling Paul, surprising him that a woman with a son would be flirting with him.

He watched her walk away holding her son's hand, her white bikini barely covering her ass cheeks, her long blonde hair halfway down her back, and Paul wondered if she was married, divorced, like a lot of young women, raising a child alone, but flattered by her words and how she was flirting with him. "Interesting," Paul thought, "I wonder what her story is," he said, laying back on the lounge, closing his eyes, imagining being seduced by her, not knowing anything about her. Did she have a husband, or boyfriend? Was she one of the cougars Alicia wanted to hide him from?

Fifteen minutes later, feeling baked by the sun, noticing his chest and legs were getting a little red, he decided to go back to his apartment and not over do it with the sun. Just as he opened the door to his apartment, he saw Alicia coming out of hers wearing her bikini top and a short green skirt, revealing her tan legs, their eyes meeting. She came over to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, "I had a wonderful time, last night," she said, softly.

"Me too, we'll have to do that again sometime," he said.

"I'd love it," she said. ""What are you doing tonight?"

"I don't know," Paul answered, opening his door. "Let's play it by ear," he added, wondering about Mindy and then the possibility of Wendy came to him then even Tricia popped into his mind, remembering how she flirted with him. "I'll give you a call later."

"I'd like that," she said, winking at him as he entered his apartment.

In his bedroom, looking at himself in the mirror over his bureau, seeing his face had more color than it has had in years, his eyes seemed bluer, his chest not as pale, noticing he looked slimmer, "You're looking pretty good for an old guy," he said. "What's happening to me?" he questioned, thinking about the women that were now in his life after so many years of longing for something he felt he would never have.

"I wonder if that potion had anything to do with this," he thought, then remembered the bargain he had made with Luke when he agreed to drink it, again dismissing the notion of his soul and spirit belonging to Luke, but then, baffled by how women were suddenly wanting him, Paul closed his eyes wondering what Luke meant when they shook hands and he said, "I will own you."

At the Gilded Cage that afternoon, he was disappointed to learn that Wendy was off when he asked, but then Catherine, the freckled faced girl behind the counter, said, "She'll be coming in to pick up her check in a little while. It's payday."

"Oh, Paul," responded, surprised how glad that made him and wondered if she would join him for a coffee or glass of wine if she came in while he was there.

Just as he finished his glass of chardonnay thinking how much he liked indulging in an afternoon wine, he closed his New Yorker and saw Wendy coming in the café wearing a short denim skirt and t shirt, a small red backpack hanging from her shoulders. When she saw Paul, she came to his table and sat down in across from him.

"Hope you don't mind if I join you?" she asked, having already sat down.

"No, of course not," Paul said then added, "So this is your day off."

"Yes, this is my day to paint," she said.

"Oh, are you an artist?" Paul asked.

"I am or I'm trying to be," she said.

"If you're painting everyday, you're an artist, not trying to be one."

"Okay, I'm an artist," she said and laughed. "I like how you said that," she added, leaning back in her chair, looking at Paul, biting her lower lip, smiling, their eyes meeting.

Paul noticed how her t-shirt strained at her breasts, her nipples showing but then he looked at her eyes, not wanting her to know where he was looking.

"I've always loved to draw and paint, ever since I was a kid."

"What kind of paintings do you do? Is it realistic or abstract? What style do you work in?" Paul asked, feeling her passion for art, sensing her seriousness.

"I'm all over the place--abstract, realistic, sometimes I combine collages in a painting sometimes, photographs are worked in. I'm pretty free, experimental--kind of wild, do you know what I mean? "

"Yes, I know what you mean," Paul responded, nodding, struck by her description, wondering if she was as wild in bed as her art work. "Can I treat you to something," he asked, "a coffee, a wine, anything?"

"No, thanks, I just came into get my check, but I'm glad I saw you. I remember when I had you for that creative writing class, how excited you were about writing but you didn't look like you do now. Something is different."

"Really, what do you mean? How did I look then? What are you saying?"

"You seemed distant. You looked distracted, like you were someplace else, like you weren't being you," Wendy said, staring at him. "Now you seem different. When I saw you the other day, remember, I said Wow, you look great!"

"Yes, I remember. I was surprised," Paul said, fascinated by what Wendy was saying, knowing what she said was true, struck by how perceptive she was, how honest and spontaneous, something he wasn't.

"Listen, Paul, I have an idea," she said, pausing, hesitating, "how about coming to my studio and I'll show you my paintings, how about it?"

"I'd like that," Paul said, surprised but delighted by her idea, wondering if she was seducing him, but at the same time, he felt she genuinely wanted to share her art with him.

"Cool, I really want you to see my work. I'll be right back," she said, jumping up. "I'll get my check and we can go. My studio's not too far, we can walk."

While waiting, he thumbed through the New Yorker, glancing at a few cartoons, chuckling at the humor and remembered the cartoon he tacked up in the English Department office a few years ago because of the whole publish or perish pressure that dominated academia. In the cartoon, Jesus is being taken down from the cross after being crucified and the caption read, "He was a great teacher, too bad he didn't publish."

A few minutes later, Wendy returned, "Okay, Paul, let's go," she said and walked next to him to the entrance when Mindy walked in and saw them, her eyes glancing at Wendy then at Paul.

"Oh no," Paul thought when he saw her surprised face then angry eyes.

"I was just coming to see if you were here," Mindy said. "But now I see you're a bastard like all the other guys I know." Before Paul could say anything, she looked Wendy up and down and then sped past them to a table.

"Wow, what was that about?" Wendy asked. "That's the girl you left with yesterday, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. We had a little fling," Paul confessed.

"Oh, I see, well I guess it's none of my business," Wendy said. "I didn't know you were such a Casanova. Maybe I better watch myself."

"Don't worry," Paul said. "I just want to see your art."

"Cool," Wendy said, "I really want to know what you think."

As they walked out, Paul turned and saw Mindy sitting at the table where they sat yesterday, suddenly feeling how complicated his life was becoming, remembering the lust filled afternoon they had yesterday, his evening with Alicia, Tricia flirting with him and now here he was walking to Wendy's studio.

Once in Wendy's third floor studio which was also her apartment, he saw canvases on all the walls, many leaning against the wall, an easel in the center of the room, splatters of paint on the floor and could see she was productive. He noticed how the late afternoon light came in the window, casting a warm glow on everything.

"You sure seem productive," Paul said. "You have a lot of work here."

"Yes, when I'm not working at the Gilded Cage, I paint. My art means a lot to me and guess what, I'm having my first show in September at the Leighton Gallery."

"I'm impressed," Paul said, walking around the room, looking at the paintings, stopping in front of each one, seeing the variety, all of it vibrant, bright swirls of color, energy. Some of it landscapes with trees, rocks, water, others of intricate lines and bold strokes, some pen and ink drawings.