An Adventure

Fearing he would make an absolute fool of himself, he'd told her father of his attraction to Sandy and quit his job. Fletch had understood and promised not to push him to visit. He also promised to keep the secret from his wife, Helen, who was a little over-protective of Sandy.

No, she couldn't possibly be the Sandy he knew. She was a helluva woman, though. He could imagine what the long slender leg, he could see in the side slit of her skirt, would feel like wrapped around him. He had no special plans for the evening, but never passed up an opportunity to be with a beautiful woman.

Although few people knew it, the Midnight Lounge was his favorite watering hole. He didn't bring dates to the exclusive club, yet he did visit often enough that the bartender and owner knew him. He'd been fortunate, if that was the proper term, to find an attractive woman or two in the club. They were either guests of the hotel or otherwise had special access to the quiet surroundings by being a close friend of a friend. A number of the more playful women in town were known to visit occasionally. There was a rather loose, gentleman's agreement that no one recognized anyone who entered the club, even if they had been a previous sexual partner.

Half-mesmerized by the profile he could see, the man walked to the bar and selected a seat to the right of the woman, leaving only one stool vacant between them.

Harvey looked up from rinsing glasses in the bar dish washer, "Scotch, Tank?"

Cassandra drew in a deep breath, praying she hadn't made a sound.

"Yeah, thanks, Harvey," the man answered. He glanced at the bar in front of the woman. Perhaps he might advance his efforts if she were ready for another drink.

Cassandra tensed in her seat, her shoulders raised and stiffened. She could no longer relax. 'No, oh please, no,' she thought, but she knew her thoughts betrayed her knowledge. All the weeks of planning, the purchases she had managed to hide from her parents, and her earlier preparations were wasted. She took a quick swallow of her drink barely managing to do so without choking.

Harvey placed the coaster, napkin, and drink in front of Tank and stood a moment for the taste test. When Tank nodded, Harvey moved away, stopping for a moment in front of Cassandra to tap his edge of the bar, silently asking if she was ready for a refill.

Cassandra shook her head and managed to stop the movement so her profile was turned slightly away from the new man at the bar, looking in the mirror as the waitress stopped at a table to take an order. 'Relax Sandy, relax,' she instructed herself. 'It's been a few years, maybe he doesn't recognize you. Give him time to get interested in what's happening in the other parts of the room.' Her mind was still whirling, flashes of memories and short conversations drifted through her mind.

Could she do it? Could she deceive him? As a young teen she had stared moon-eyed at this man. Could she flirt with him tonight, convince him she was a sophisticated woman out for a night of fun?

The scrape of a chair across the wood floor came from the opposite end of the room as lighting came up and began to reflect in the mirror. A few test notes played on a piano overwhelmed the sound coming from the speakers. A slow melody was executed with expression and style. A male voice humming unspoken words replaced the former gentle sounds of canned music.

The sound of the piano grew dimmer as the player spoke, "For your listening and dancing pleasure this evening, I'm Tony. If you have a favorite you would like to hear, let the waitress, Star, know about it. I've never known a star before. Don't you think her name is rather appropriate for the Midnight Lounge?"

A faint smattering of laughter ended Tony's remarks as he continued to play, adding a few hummed phrases now and then. He soon switched to a little faster music for several minutes. Then the slow strains of a waltz filled the room. Tony was demonstrating that he could provide every type of dancing music.

Tank recognized the man from the near corner of the bar as he approached. They had certainly sampled a few of the same women, although Carlton was a much heavier player than Tank knew, visiting the club at least two nights a week. Tank came in just a few times a month and was much more selective of the women he found attractive. Many of his visits were only for the opportunity to dance and converse with a woman in a somewhat "no holds barred" conversation, enjoying the tease as much as if he had a night with the woman.

Cassandra watched as a man from the near corner of the bar approached to ask, "Would you like to dance?"

Cassandra offered her hand and smiled then slipped off her stool. She felt the man's hand squeeze hers as he led her to the dance floor. He pulled her to him, pushed her hip to turn her in a circle under his arm and wrapped one arm around her. He was a little bit of a showoff, but Sandy could follow him easily. His hand rested against her back with his thumb slowly stroking the bare skin above the low drape of the neckline at the back of her dress.

He introduced himself as Carlton and nodded when she said her name. Otherwise, they were silent as they enjoyed the dance with several other couples on the floor. Tony was quite a talented piano player, plus his baritone voice added sensuality to the atmosphere inside the club.

Carlton kept her on the dance floor through three different songs, demonstrating his skill, occasionally trying to hold Cassandra a little tighter than she preferred. He finally got the message and just enjoyed the dance along with a few comments on why each of them had selected this lounge for the evening.

When Carlton finally returned her to her seat, the barstool on her left had been moved a little farther left to be nearer its neighbor. A couple occupied the two stools. They were chatting as if they were well acquainted, using short sentences as they discussed their day. Tank was now sitting on her immediate right. He had moved to give two couples the stools between him and the far corner of the bar.

Cassandra thanked Carlton for the dance and climbed back up on her seat. The interlude had given her a chance to relax a little, but now her tension was back. A full glass was sitting before her. She looked at Harvey and he jerked his head to the man beside her. Tank had bought her a fresh drink. It was now or never. Could she pull it off? She did not know but it was worth the effort to try. Oh well, here goes nothing.

"Thank you," Cassandra turned her head as she spoke, keeping her chin down and speaking quietly. The practice to lower her voice and speak slowly produced sounds she was so proud of, they added an extra sparkle to her eyes and a little more to her smile.

"You're welcome," Tank replied, trying not to stare down the front of this woman's dress but still barely glancing at her face. He finally decided he had been mistaken. This was a woman, several years older than Sandy, although the resemblance was remarkable. Her facial features were more mature and her body was certainly much more voluptuous. He suspected she was two or more inches taller than his memory of Sandy.

"Are you a guest at the hotel tonight?" His question was so nonchalant she didn't recognize it as one of the oldest pick up lines the man knew.

Rather than cross her fingers, Cassandra crossed her ankles, hoping for the same effect, when she replied, "Yes, but only for one night." Oh heck, why did she tell him that? A simple positive response would have worked just as well.

"Are you traveling on business?"

Cassandra tested the chuckle she had practiced for a month, "Oh yes, and hoping my business doesn't keep me here longer than one night." She took a deep breath before asking her own get-acquainted question, "And you?"

"No, I live here. I just like this place. It's quiet. If I stay too late Harvey will call someone to put me in a cab for home." He laughed a little, matching her humor.

"Yes, it is quiet. The man at the piano, Tony, he's good."

"This is his bar."

Think slow Cassandra, she reminded herself, "Oh really? Does he own the bar so he can have a permanent place to entertain, or is it the other way around?"

Tank looked at Tony then turned back to the woman, "You know, I'm not sure. I could go ask him."

Cassandra put her hand on Tank's arm, "Oh please, don't." She tried to laugh. "I think I was just making conversation."

They continued their polite conversation for a few more minutes, interspersed with short periods of silence. Several times Cassandra looked at Carlton but his attention was usually directed elsewhere. She also gave her attention to the other men around the perimeter of the bar, none of whom interested her. She might as well see how far she could go with hiding who she was from Tank.

Tank turned and offered his right hand, "My friends call me Tank."

She placed her right hand in his. "Cass." She did not know why she didn't complete the rest of her first name. He had known her as Sandy, perhaps not saying Sandra would help with her subterfuge.

"Is that short for Cassidy or something like that?"

"Yes, something like that. I just prefer Cass."

"Then Cass it is. Now then, Cass, would you like to dance?"

"Yes, I would." She pushed against the bar to turn her seat and took Tank's hand, holding on as they threaded through a few tables to reach the small dance floor.

They danced through two different pieces of music, getting accustomed to each other's movements and occasionally looking at each other. A few times Tank caught a whiff of her perfume. It was so subtle he wasn't sure if he could detect roses or something else, nor could he decide if it was her perfume, shampoo or body soap. He just knew he liked it for its calm fragrance, elegance of simplicity. Perhaps because it was exactly like Cass, whom he was beginning to enjoy.

Each time they neared Tony, he smiled and nodded at them but his fingers never left the keyboard. Tank watched Tony's examination of Cass, then his wink, which Tank accepted as approval. Tony's slow rendition of the first part of "Pretty Woman" drove Tank from the dance floor, fearing Tony would begin to really belt it out, as he had done on previous evenings.

* * * *

When they left the dance floor, Tank stopped at the first booth, where glasses similar to those they'd had at the bar rested on fresh coasters. Cassandra looked up at Tank, waiting for his explanation.

He smiled down at her, "Harvey knows me. I like this booth. I don't care to sit at the bar with my back to everyone."

"Good choice," Cassandra agreed and sat down, then slid around to the corner. She looked around for a moment surprised at how private the booth was. The high partitions between the booths and the side toward the dance floor gave barely one wall for an opening. The lighting was lower, too. That would help her avoid being recognized.

Tank relaxed against the soft back of the booth and took a deep breath, seeming to stretch out a little, giving Cass plenty of room. "So tell me about Cass."

"What would you like to know?"

"You've played this game before. What do you usually allow men to know about you?"

"Actually, not much, if they don't already know me. And ... if they do, I needn't tell them anything more."

"Ah ha, a woman of mystery. All right, what shall we talk about?"

"Oh, let me see. Politics?"

Tank shook his head, "Not on your life. This is a political town and I'm not part of that scene."

"Religion?"

Tank shook his head again, almost violently. "Oh God, no." Then he laughed at his own remark.

"Sports?"

Tank turned his head to look at her. "Seriously? You can handle talking about sports?"

"As I have a father and four brothers, each of whom has taken me as their favorite pupil, I can hold my own in most discussions about sports."

Cassandra held her breath. Why did she tell him that? Oh well, many people had four brothers, it couldn't seem so unusual. Besides, he was probably thinking about his favorite sports team.

"Do you enjoy watching sports?"

"Most of the time I do, unless the commentators get too long-winded."

"I have a sister like that. She rants at them, telling them, 'Hush, so we can watch the game.' Her other comments are sometimes less pleasant."

Cassandra winced, knowing he was speaking about her step-mother but she joined his laughter. He was right. She had heard some of the names Helen had called the talking heads. She just didn't need to tell him that.

Tank leaned his arm on the table and bent over to speak in her other ear, "I like your laugh. It's a happy sound. You should do it more often." He kissed the soft skin in front of her ear and then kissed her cheek. He didn't stop there, his mouth moved down her neck until his lips were touching the soft spot near her shoulder.

"You're delicious. I don't know what that perfume is, but I'll buy you a gallon of it if you'll allow me to lick every dab of it from your body."

Cassandra gasped and Tank looked into her eyes as he placed a finger across her lips. "Don't. I apologize. I shouldn't have said that. I'll not apologize for thinking it but I did not mean it to offend."

"Accepted," Cassandra could barely say the word. Too many years of thinking about this man doing exactly what he had described made her body tingle. She felt a bubble of moisture escape between the lips of her sex and wanted to groan.

"Thank you," Tank responded and touched his lips to hers. He raised his head then placed his forehead against hers, "Cass" whispered across her moist lips.

Realizing he was rushing, Tank settled back against the seat. "Do you ever play the game,What's My Line?"

"You mean like looking at someone and trying to imagine what they do for a living or what makes them special?"

"Yes, tell me about the first man you danced with, the guy sitting at the far corner."

Cassandra looked at Carlton then at Tank, "If you saw us dancing you already know. He's a showoff." She waited for Tank's nod then asked, "My turn?" After his second nod, Cassandra said, "The guy at the bar with mismatched socks."

"Huh?" Tank looked but couldn't tell which man she meant.

"The third stool, one sock has faint red stripes and the other does not."

"Damn, you're observant," Tank complained. "Okay, I'll guess an accountant."

"Accountant?"

"Yeah." Tank explained, "If it isn't on paper so he can add it, average it, or post it to another piece of paper, he doesn't care about it."

"Oh my, that's a good one. Do you know many accountants?"

"A few. All right, it's my turn." Nodding toward one of the center tables, "The lady wearing a blonde wig, what's her line?"

"It's not a wig and she isn't married to the man with her."

And so the next couple of hours passed. They continued to play the game, often getting off the subject when one or the other's guess sparked an interest. Cassandra declined another drink. She had finished only half of her first drink before the dance with the showoff. She drank half of the second one when Tank took her to the dance floor.

The third drink was on the table when they sat down and Tank had ordered himself another drink before he ordered the next round for both of them. The drinks arrived while they were talking about one of the tall buildings they could see through the windows on the opposite side of the room. Three drinks were more than her limit. She liked to keep herself from having the third drink, not because she couldn't handle that many, but because of the way they made her feel the next morning. She was also conscious she needed to keep her wits about her during any conversation with a man who might recognize her from an unprepared remark.

Tank took her to the dance floor where he held her tighter than he had earlier. She felt his erection and suspected he knew she was just as attracted to him. He squeezed her hand, whispered in her ear, and kissed her once again, a light fleeting kiss.

She rested her head on his shoulder, her lips so close to his neck she could imagine feeling his heart beating. The opportunity to dance with and be held by this man was the stuff of which dreams were made.

They returned to their table, their conversation growing quieter and more intimate. Cassandra was sitting with her head against the back of the seat. Her eyes closed as she thought the words, then spoke them slowly, "It is late. I need to leave."

"I'll walk you to your room."

"I can get there by myself."

"Tough, but I won't let you out of my sight until I have you in your room. You're not sober enough to be let loose in this huge place."

"Okay," Cassandra acquiesced, pushing against Tank to get out of the booth. He stood and left money on the table as he put his arm around Cass and walked toward the front door of the Lounge, waving to a grinning Harvey behind the bar.

"Room number, Cass?"

"1215, no 1512."

Pushing that number on the elevator wall, he suggested, "We'll try the fifteenth floor first."

* * * *

Tank took the keycard from Cass and opened her door. He gave her a nudge to go inside and stepped in behind her, wrapping his arms around her as he pushed against the door to close it. He heard the automatic lock engage as he bent his head to nuzzle the back of her neck.

Cassandra rested her head against him when his hands moved up to cup her breasts, feeling their weight and softness. His hands were large but tender. She shuddered at the feeling of him holding her so close. He watched over her shoulder as he lifted a dark pink nipple into view. He could smell her perfume and her arousal. He thought he had detected the musk earlier when he kissed her, but she seemed to retreat from him after that and he was too attracted to rush her. Now she moaned with the kneading of his fingers.

His hands went lower, one resting on her flat belly and the other going between her legs to cup her sex and feel her heat. She moved one leg giving him better access and pressed back. He was hard, growing harder against the pressure of her bottom. She moved ever so slightly, stimulating him.

The urge to turn her around and devour her was almost too much to resist. Tank knew he shouldn't. She'd had too much to drink. This woman wasn't a one-night stand kind of conquest. He'd learned that as they talked. She didn't play the sexual innuendo game very well. She was also not as old as he had first thought. Her facial expressions were too open and genuine.

"Cass," he spoke in her ear. "Let's get you to bed."

"No," she groaned, placing her hands on top of his, pressing his fingers between her legs. She ground her hips against him and whimpered, "Please, Tank."

Tank straightened up and kept his arms around her as they took a few steps toward the bed. He turned her around and told her to take off her shoes. She did so, leaving her just a little shorter, her forehead right in front of his lips. He leaned over and threw the bedcovers back then slipped the shoulder straps of her dress down, watching as the slinky material fell to the floor, pooling around her feet.

"Oh my god," he breathed and felt his cock jerk. With only the nightlight from the bathroom he could see how beautiful she was. Her breasts were full, slightly rounded on the bottom with their weight. Her waist was tight and her hips were slender, yet he knew her backside was rounded. She had pressed herself against him and moved slowly across his hardening cock.

The sheer thong she wore hid very little. The darkness of her pubic mound was clearly visible as was the slight separation between the lips of her swollen sex. He'd had his hand against her and felt her heat. The temptation to touch her now, to feel her wetness made him groan.

As gently as he could, he pressed on her shoulders, "Sit down, Cass." A moment later he picked her feet up as she rolled over with her back to him. He resisted the urge to stroke the smoothness of her back and place his hands on the cheeks of her beautiful ass. God, she was beautiful. Instead, he pulled the covers over her and stood there watching her deep breathing. She wasn't asleep, but she was very relaxed.