Alter Ego

It was a warm Saturday about a month after my divorce. I sat at the bar nursing a beer and watching the college football game on the TV. While I wasn't really looking to actively socialize, I had come across the lake just to be in a place where there were other people.

I pondered how I had gotten to this point. I wasn't exactly broken up about the divorce, as we had been staying together only out of inertia for the last few years. We didn't hate each other, but there hadn't been any love in the marriage for a really long time. On our good days we were comfortable around each other. On our bad days we bickered incessantly. One day out of the blue she suggested we split up and I agreed. I had always thought if that day came it would be filled with drama and emotion, but it was actually anticlimactic. I suppose the divorce cost me quite a bit, but I was just happy that I got to keep the lake house and the boat.

I was interrupted from my reflection by a female voice to my left, "who are you rooting for?"

"Michigan, I guess", I replied.

"Oooh! wrong choice," she answered in a disapproving voice, "Go Badgers!"

I looked at her as she settled onto the bar stool beside me. She was petite, cute and very young looking, but her style made an unusual statement. She had jet black hair that was divided into a series of spikes, sticking straight out 8 inches off her head, presumably held in place by lots of hair spray. She wore a loose black tee shirt, ripped black jeans, wide black leather wristbands with metal studs, and funky black boots with lots of buckles. Her freckles softened the look, however, and thankfully she stayed away from the signature black lipstick most Goth girls seemed to favor.

"I don't really care either way. In honor of you, I'll change my answer - Go Badgers!"

"Nothing like a guy with loyalty," she said sarcastically. I could see she was a handful. I liked that in a girl.

"You go to Wisconsin?"

"...Um, yeah that's my school"

"You don't even look old enough for college", I teased.

She blushed and glanced over to the bartender, then leaned toward me and whispered "is it that obvious?"

"Sorry, I was just teasing. Besides, I'm old compared to everyone else here...you all look like kids to me"

She giggled and flashed me a brilliant smile. "Nice recovery, old man. But seriously, the bartender is probably your age". She was being kind, as he looked to be at least 15 years my junior, but I wasn't going to call her out on it.

"Damn she's cute when she smiles" I thought to myself, "I wonder just how young she is?"

The bartender came over, "More water, Mace?"

"Thanks, Sammy," She held out an empty glass and he refilled it from the hand held nozzle.

I caught his eye. "Mace?" I mouthed silently. The bartender glanced at the girl, but she was looking at the glass he was filling. He looked back at me, shrugged slightly and made a quick gesture near his head with his free hand, as though running his fingers over a spiky shape. I got it.

I decided to have a little fun with this girl. I turned to face her.

"Yes?" she asked when she saw my inquisitive look.

"Mace? Unusual name. Is that short for something?" I asked, playing dumb.

"Nope"

"Is it like the Jedi?"

"No"

"Like the pepper spray?"

"No, no, like the medieval weapon"

"So your parents conceived you at a renaissance fair?"

"Very funny"

"If a bar fight breaks out, can I grab you by your ankles and swing you around?"

She rolled her eyes and said, "OK, that one was lame."

"Child, you cut me to the quick."

"Yeah, well...were not in Kansas anymore"

I raised my eyebrows, impressed. She hadn't skipped a beat with that response.

She turned and walked away. I noted that she presented a very nice view from behind, her hips swaying seductively. I turned back toward the bar and the bartender said, "I wouldn't waste your time."

"Not that I was planning on it, but what makes you say that?"

"Half the guys in this place have hit on her and she has shut them all down. I don't know if she is real selective or if she just isn't looking for that. Maybe she's into girls."

"If she is not here for you young studs, what does she come here for?"

"She loves to dance."

"I didn't think Goth girls did that." From my limited observations, they usually hung out in dark corners and practiced looking as sullen as possible.

"I'm not sure Goth is really what she's going for. It's more like gladiator meets punk rocker. She is awfully cute in spite of her funky getup," he said wistfully.

"Something tells me you were one of the guys she turned down."

"Guilty as charged," the bartender said.

"So you were just warning me off to eliminate the competition?"

"No, I gave up on that a while ago. If you want to chase her, go for it, just don't say I didn't warn you."

"Nah, I don't think I need to get 'Maced'. Besides, chasing girls at the bar is a young man's game. I'm just an old guy looking for a beer and a football game."

I turned back to the game.

At halftime, I looked around the bar. Like most of the waterfront bars on the lake, it was jammed with tourists during the summer. Now, in early September, the crowd had thinned down, but it was still a fairly busy night.

It was an eclectic crowd. Probably a third were college kids from the university on the other side of town. There were leftover tourists, young business professionals and a smattering of older local residents like myself.

At a table not far from me was an enormous black man dressed in an expensive, well-tailored suit sitting by himself. He stood out for his sheer size, but also had an air of importance about him. "Mr. Big," I dubbed him in my mind. It was something I did when I people watched, assigning my own nicknames.

Across the other side of the dance floor was a slight, sandy haired man who shuffled nervously and watched the girls on the dance floor longingly. He wanted to dance, but I predicted he would never get up the nerve to ask anyone all night. "Mr. Pathetic" I dubbed him. Admittedly, my nicknames weren't generally kind.

Mace was working the dance floor. She was not overly graceful, but she made up for it with high energy. She treated dancing like an athletic event, making me breathless just watching her. She was on the floor with a chubby, florid, 30-something guy I dubbed, "Doughboy." He was trying to keep up with Mace and failing badly. The song ended and the two of them made their way off the floor. Doughboy put his hand on Mace's shoulder but she shrugged it off. He leaned in and said something to her. She shook her head forcefully. He looked disappointed and made his way to a table with three other guys. I could see they were ribbing him. One made a "crash and burn" gesture.

Mace made her way to her own table occupied by two other girls. One was downright scary looking. Her hair was dyed white. She was tall and bony. She was tattooed from the chin down and was bristling with metal from too many piercings to count. The effect reminded me of the tools hanging on the pegboard in my workshop. I dubbed her, "Hardware." The other girl had more the typical Goth look. She was busty and full figured, clad in a black lace dress offset by combat boots. Her black hair was cut at a severe angle and covered one eye. She wore black lipstick and black nail polish. I toyed with "Cyclops," but decided on simply "Goth girl."

Mace chatted with her friends for a few minutes. Another song started, getting an immediate reaction from her. She tried to rouse her friends to join her on the dance floor. She grabbed Goth Girl's hand and pulled, but Goth Girl pulled back and shook her head. Hardware held up two fingers in a cross symbol, as if warding off a vampire, and laughed.

Mace gave up. She came up behind Mr. Pathetic, grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. He was stunned, but obviously thrilled. He was even more awkward on the dance floor than Doughboy. Mace didn't seem to care as she bounced around. When the song ended, Mr. Pathetic thanked Mace, shaking her hand awkwardly and wandered off. I thought to myself, "I bet she's the subject of his masturbatory fantasy tonight."

I looked back at Mr. Big. Curious, I asked the Sammy who he was.

"Demarcus," he answered. "He was an offensive lineman for the Vikings a couple of years ago. He's the one who asked me to put on the Wisconsin game. He's got a nephew who plays wide receiver for them. Number 83, I think. Demarcus owns the big white house on 'The Point'." I knew the house he referred to. I had admired it many times from the lake.

As I looked over at Demarcus, Mace approached him. "Dance with me, Demarcus."

"C'mon Mace, I'm watching the game. My nephew's playing."

"Just one song. There's a commercial on now anyway. You won't miss much. I think you're just being lazy."

"Damn, girl, you're like the energizer bunny. OK...but just one song."

Demarcus was surprisingly light on his feet for a man well north of 300 lb. I reminded myself that he had been a professional athlete and footwork was an important part of his craft. Sammy chuckled, "Kinda looks like a wrecking ball dancing with a scrub brush."

I turned back to the game, now well into the third quarter.

Mace stopped by the bar twice more to refill her glass.

"She doesn't drink alcohol?" I asked the Sammy.

"Oh, she does. White Russians, usually. But not when she's dancing up a storm. Says she needs to hydrate. Not sure she's old enough to drink, to be honest. I carded her the first time she came in and her ID says she's 22. I have my doubts, but I couldn't find a reason to reject the ID, it looked legit."

Curious, I asked him, "Did her ID actually say 'Mace'?"

"I didn't notice. I don't look at names when I check ID's. Picture and birth date is all that matters. You know, for a guy who claims not to be interested, you are paying her a lot of attention."

"Hey, I'm a people watcher, and she's the most interesting person in here."

"I can't argue with that."

I didn't want to admit it, but I was becoming a little infatuated with this funky girl. With her black clothes in a dark bar, it was difficult to really see her physique, but what I could make out appealed to me. Moreover, her lively personality was hard to ignore. The crazy hair, I could do without.

The game was just about over. Wisconsin lined up for the winning 42 yard field goal. I heard Demarcus willing the ball through the uprights, "Go, go, go...Yes!"

I heard a voice right behind me say, "We won!" and a pair of wiry, sweaty arms wrapped around me from behind, then let go.

I turned in surprise to see a grinning Mace. "Sorry, I get a little excited sometimes," she said, not looking sorry at all.

I laughed. "You have permission to hug me any time you want."

Mace sat down at the bar and ordered a White Russian, just as the bartender had said.

"Done dancing?" I asked.

"For now."

"You were working up quite a sweat out there."

"Yup."

You don't wait for the guys to ask, do you?"

"If you wait to be asked, you end up losing half the night. I don't like waiting." She looked like she suddenly realized something. "You've been watching me."

"I've been watching everyone, but you just happen to be the most interesting person here."

She blushed.

I decided to tease her a bit more. "So tell me something: you dragged just about every guy here onto the dance floor, why not me?"

She looked a little flustered. "You were watching the game"

"So was Demarcus, but that didn't stop you"

"Demarcus is my friend, besides, he's an awesome dancer"

"So, you don't like me and you think I can't dance," I summarized.

"I didn't say that!" She looked like she was starting to get genuinely upset.

I winked at her and she realized I was joking.

She said, "You're a jerk," and gave my shoulder a playful punch, then she stepped back and made a show of sizing me up and down. "You know what? I bet you can't dance."

This was getting interesting. "You bet? What sort of wager did you have in mind?"

"I would think dancing with me would be reward enough."

Mentally, I gave her props for the saucy answer, but I needed to parry. "OK, fine. We dance and if I am better than Demarcus, I win a second dance, to the song of my choosing. If I lose, I'll pay your bar tab."

I could tell what she was thinking; this was a win-win proposition for her.

People are always surprised to find out that I am a very good dancer. It just comes naturally to me, but apparently I don't look the type. "Damn, you are really good," Mace said as we left the floor. Several onlookers high-fived me. "All right, I concede. You've won your second dance, go pick out your song." She looked perfectly happy about losing the bet.

I went and talked to the DJ.

We returned to the bar. I told Mace I would let her know when my requested song came on. "What is it?" she asked.

"You'll see."

We chatted for a few minutes more, then I heard the first notes of my request. It was a slow, romantic song and there was only one way to dance to it. Mace's eyes widened when she realized I had outmaneuvered her. I wondered if she would try to slow dance at arms-length like a school kid, but she pressed her body close to mine and draped her arms over my shoulders. She was sweaty, but her body felt great. I could feel her small, round, firm breasts pressing just below my chest. I held tight around her slender waist. She swayed her hips with the music intoxicatingly. "You are a sneaky bastard," she whispered in my ear.

When the song ended and a fast number began, I let go of Mace and turned, assuming we would head off the floor. She grabbed my arm and said, "Where do you think you're going? You're staying out here. I want payback for that dirty trick." We worked up a sweat to the next couple of songs.

As we cooled down at the bar later, the bartender came over and said, "Just to let you know, I hear the police have set up a sobriety check at the end of our driveway. If you have any doubts about being under the legal limit, I can call you a cab. Let me know soon, because we are closing in 20."

Mace looked a little concerned, but said nothing. When the bartender moved away to warn other customers, I turned to Mace and said "You look a little worried."

"I've only had a couple of drinks, but I'm not legal drinking age," she said quietly, "I can't go through that checkpoint. The first time I came here, I used my sister's ID, but I don't even have that tonight. Even if I'm a passenger, they could check me. I'd be in trouble and so would the bar. What the hell am I going to do now?"

"Well, there is another option..."

"What?"

"My boat is docked out back. I am planning to sleep aboard tonight. Don't take this the wrong way, but you are welcome to join me. There is room for two. I promise no funny business."

She brightened up immediately, "Cool...thank you!"

"Look," I said, "you might want to check it out first before you accept. I'm not gonna lie, it's pretty tight quarters."

"Let's go check it out now."

We walked out the back door and out to the dock.

"Oh my god, it's gorgeous," Mace exclaimed, when she saw the boat.

I swelled with pride. At the dock was my 24' Riva runabout, all gleaming mahogany and chrome. This Italian built boat is rare in the US. I had bought it at an estate sale in Newport, RI. It was in such rough shape, the owners didn't think it was worth much. I knew better. Despite the fact that there were bittersweet vines growing through the hull I knew it was worth restoring. I spent the better part of five years restoring it to its former glory. It was now valued at $250K, not that I would ever dream of selling it.

As nice as the boat is, the berthing under the forward deck is rudimentary and cramped. The boat isn't really meant for overnighting, except in a pinch. There is simply a flat trapezoidal upholstered area up at the bow with less than three feet of headroom. It was just wide enough at the forward end for two people. Mace didn't seem phased, she just kept saying how beautiful the boat was.

I pulled out a bottle of wine and we sat on deck under the stars drinking and talking.

It was close to 3:00 am when Mace said, "I need to get some sleep."

She acted like she was going to crawl in to the berthing as is, then thought better of it. She sat down at the helm and took off her boots. I watched with interest, wondering if that was all that was coming off. My heart rate quickened when she stood up and unbuttoned her jeans.

She stopped and looked at me, "You are going to sit there and watch me?"

"A beautiful girl stands up in front of me and starts undressing, and you expect me not to look? I'm all for being a gentleman, but there are limits."

"Fine, but remember you promised no funny business"

"Don't worry, I take my sex quite seriously."

A look of fear crossed her face and I realized my banter had gone too far.

"I'm sorry, that was supposed to be a joke. I swear I will not try to take advantage of you."

She glared at me and I held my breath, waiting for her next move. Her face softened and a smile slowly played across her lips. Without breaking eye contact, she began to swivel her hips and wriggle out of her jeans. Her eyes dared me to look down. I didn't give in.

Mace turned and bent down to go below deck, giving me a brief flash of a thong clad ass.

"Damn, that's not fair. Not after I promised to not make the moves on her," I thought to myself.

Taking her lead, I removed my jeans and climbed in beside her in my boxers. True to my word, I gave her as much space as I could.

I awoke out of an erotic dream to find that somehow we had gotten into a spooning position. My erection was pressed between my stomach and the top of Mace's ass crack and my arm was draped over her. I lay there for a few seconds enjoying her warmth as the fog of sleep cleared. I worried that if she woke up she would accuse me of breaking my promise. I tried to extricate myself without waking her, but she grabbed my arm as I was pulling it away and said, "No, stay there...this is nice." She wiggled her ass a little, sending shock waves through me.

I wondered if she was absolving me of my promise, but she seemed to read my mind and said, "Just remember, you promised no funny business, so don't be looking for any holes to stick that thing in."

She held my hand in hers and pressed it against her firm stomach. I suspect this was more about preventing my hand from wandering where she didn't want it than a sign of affection. With the pleasant sensations of spooning with her and the rising sexual tension, it took a long time for me to fall asleep again, but finally I did.

The next time I woke up, the sun was streaming in and I got up and used the rest room at the head of the dock. Upon returning, I was struck by how peaceful Mace looked in her sleep. On a whim, I pulled out my sketch pad and captured the scene. She awoke just as I was finishing the sketch.

"Hi sleepyhead."

"What are you doing?"

I turned my sketchpad around.

"That's really good, but my hair is a disaster" Mace said. She stretched and asked, "What time is it?"

"10:00"

"Shit, I've got to go."

She wriggled back into her jeans, flashing me another shot of her ass cheeks in the process. Grabbing her boots, she gave me a quick peck on the cheek and was gone up the dock, leaving me with a terrible case of blue balls.

_______________________________________________

Wednesday afternoon, I knocked off work early to attend my daughter's tennis match. Alexis is a junior in high school and is shaping up to be a very competitive player. She has an outside chance of getting a Division I scholarship. In previous years she had played only during the high school season in the spring. As she got more serious, she joined a premier team that played matches during the summer and fall as well. I tried to make it to as many matches as possible, but they often conflicted with work commitments.