Getting Even Pt. 01

This is a bit shorter than my usual stories (and another attempt to do something a little 'different'). Thanks again to my editors, Alianath Iriad and Lastman416. Any remaining errors are mine. Thanks to you readers as well, for the feedback and constructive criticism.

***

What the hell was I doing in a nightclub? The cover charge was a king's ransom, and the drinks were priced so that the owner could probably pay off the national debt after the first week of business.

$7.50 for a club soda? I handed the waitress a ten-dollar bill, and she was gone before I had a chance to ask for change. She probably couldn't have heard me in any case.

The music was excruciatingly loud. I could feel the dull, repetitive thump, thump, thump like a series of punches in the chest. The drum tracks were all programmed, of course: if that was supposed to be a beat, then I was indeed taking a beating. To add to my enjoyment, the flashing lights were giving me a headache.

But Luke was here to meet his match from the dating app, and Marco and I had come along to provide moral support and backup. Marco (a big lad) was the security guard, and I was the designated driver, in case of a failure to launch (hence the club soda).

Luke was on the floor with his date, while Marco kept the date's girlfriend (her moral support / security) occupied. I would've said they were dancing, except that they weren't. It was more a case of rubbing up against each other.

I was observing from a safe vantage point. Well, relatively safe. A line from the Talking Heads 'Once in a Lifetime' was stuck in my head: "Well, how did I get here?"

The short answer: I grew up in a small town, went to a small school, ran track & cross-country. Took the job offer, moved to the big city. Marco and Luke were pretty decent guys; they helped me fit in at work, kept the practical jokes to a minimum, and invited me to play basketball with them on Tuesdays, and watch sports on weekends.

That was why I was suffering through this ordeal. With any luck, Luke and his match would strike some sparks, and we could all go home early. Otherwise, I was looking at hours of sipping my club soda and pointless girl-watching.

That's not to say that I object to girl-watching. And there were women I could watch - some of them were quite attractive. That didn't mean that I stood the ghost of a chance with them. I can appreciate a Ferrari - doesn't mean I'm ever going to drive one. My clothes, my bearing (and probably the look on my face, too) all proclaimed me to be exactly what I was: a fish out of water.

Luke insisted that relationships nowadays started online.

- "You gotta put yourself out there, man! Take a few chances."

- "I dunno." said Marco, shaking his head. "Ben should probably wait until he has some new clothes, and a car."

- "I have a car."

- "I mean a car from the 21st century." he said. That was a cheap shot, given how often I drove them around.

- "Hey - I don't see the women lined up outside your door." I said.

- "That's 'cause they're all inside, with me."

I did need to adjust my approach, or my expectations. Or both.

Rachel and I were together for almost two years, in college. She got a great offer in New York, while I got a pretty good one in Toronto. She couldn't understand why I wouldn't ditch everything and move with her - so that I could wait on her, hand and foot, when she got home from work.

She also thought that running and sports were 'junior' hobbies - things I should grow out of, now that we were adults, or at least 'put on the back burner', so that I could concentrate on 'our relationship' (meaning her and what she wanted). It took me far too long to realize that Rachel was completely self-centred and ridiculously high-maintenance (both financially and emotionally).

New job, new city. I was looking for an independent, low-maintenance woman - if possible, one who shared at least some of my interests. I was looking for Ms. Right. While I was waiting, though, I wouldn't have objected to spending some time with Ms. Reasonably Close - or even Ms. No Way I'm Bringing You Home to Meet my Parents.

Just then, a little blonde slid past me to get to the bar. The bartender must've had a drink ready for her, because two seconds later, she was turning around. I stepped to the side, to give her a little room.

She surveyed the dance floor, and then surprised me by raising her drink to her lips, tilting her head back, and draining the whole thing in one go.

Before I could even absorb that, she turned and looked right up at me (I'm no six footer, but she was only 5'4", tops). She reached up and tugged on my shirtsleeve. I lowered my head so that she could shout into my ear.

- "Wanna dance?"

There was no mistaking who she was talking to. Even so, my first reaction was to point to myself.

- "Me?"

There was no way she could've heard me. It didn't matter anyway. She had a grip on my shirt, and simply pulled me behind her.

The little blonde popped her empty glass on an unoccupied table. I did the same, and followed her down the steps onto the dance floor. She led to me an open spot near the corner, and placed me exactly where she wanted me.

Then she turned her back to me, and began dancing.

I'm a terrible dancer. It's partly a question of lineage; the only rhythm in my family was the method my grandparents used for birth control (which may be why I have three aunts and six uncles on that side).

It didn't matter at all: the blonde wasn't even looking at me. But I certainly had plenty to see. She had a trim, taut little body, with hardly an ounce of extra fat, and an ass worthy of being immortalized. I'm talking paintings. Film. Statues.

I caught Marco looking at me with an expression of complete disbelief. Luke was staring, too, as if to say: 'What are you doing here?', or 'Who is that?'.

My partner finally looked back. She took hold of my shirt again, and pulled my arm around her waist. My hand was on her belly. It was as firm and tight as the rest of her.

There was one part of her body that had a little give to it. I found that out when she backed up a little more (with her hand still imprisoning my arm), and pressed that incredible ass up against me.

Given the disparity in our respective heights, she had to move me around me a bit more to achieve her goal: her delectable little rump pressed right up against my groin. Normally I would've been mortified to have my erection brush against a woman's backside. But this was exactly what the little blonde wanted.

I was embarrassed, at first. It was like being the recipient of a standing lap dance. My response was immediate and ... rather prominent.

My partner swayed back and forth, and took a tighter grip of my arm so that she could direct my movements as well. Soon we were swaying together. I could feel the heat of her belly through her thin dress, but most of my attention was on the taut globes of her ass, which she had sandwiched around my dick.

She was grinding back onto me, which raised the back of her dress a little too far - so that I realized she was wearing a thong.

I was completely mortified. Could people see what we were doing? What she was doing? Of course, I wasn't embarrassed enough to move away; I was far too turned on.

She was in great shape, with incredible stamina. I was beginning to worry that I might not be able to last that long - that I might, in fact, stain the front of my pants.

I was saved by the whistle. Whistles. The music changed, with a new song flowing more or less seamlessly out of the last. Except that this song sounded like something you'd hear at a soccer match. The multiple referees' whistles were particularly annoying.

The little blonde stopped dancing (and grinding). She shook her head, and then proceeded to drag me off the floor.

On the main level, she took a sharp right, and headed for the exit. There was a set of inner doors, then a carpeted hallway, with washrooms and a coat-check room. The music was somewhat muffled here, and the lights weren't flashing.

She stopped again, for a moment, as if she were wondering where she'd left her keys. Then she turned to me.

It was my first really good look at her face.

She was fine. I took in her silky golden-blonde hair, blue eyes, narrow little nose ... her face was perfect - set off by an equally perfect make-up job: the arched eyebrows, the mascara (not too excessive), and glossy lipstick that wasn't too red, nor too pink. She had a tiny stud in her nose, which didn't add anything to her good looks, but didn't detract from them, either.

She was looking at me, too. Lord knows what she was thinking - until she spoke to me for the second time.

- "You wanna share a cab?"

I should probably tell you, at this point, that I'm not a complete idiot. But I certainly must have looked like one, at that moment. It was all I could do to raise a finger and point at myself again.

- "Me?"

The little blonde smiled at me, showing off a set of perfect teeth.

- "Yeah. You wanna share a cab with me?"

- "I ... ah ... I have my car."

- "Better not to drink and drive." she said.

- "No, it's okay. I was drinking club soda. I'm the designated driver." And suddenly I just couldn't stop talking. Pick-up artists around the world were probably cringing in unison as I explained to her that I was with my friends, because Luke had met this girl on HookMeUp.com and Marco and I had come along to provide moral support, and good grief why couldn't I just shut up ...

- "That's very nice of you." said the little blonde.

- "But I could save you cab fare, if you like. I could give you a lift home."

- "Really?"

- "Of course. Just ... ah - let me tell my friends?"

- "I'll wait right here."

I headed back inside, into the maelstrom of sound and light. I quickly found Marco, and bellowed into his ear at close range. It wasn't working all that well. Reason prevailed, and he followed me out into the entrance hall.

The little blonde was still there. She'd somehow acquired a small handbag.

- "She needs a ride home." I said. "I offered to give her a lift, if you guys'll be okay."

- "He's going to be my designated driver for the night." she said. "If that's alright."

Marco was stunned.

- "This is my friend Marco." I said.

- "Millie." she said, with a flash of perfect teeth. "Nice to meet you, Marco."

- "And my name's Ben." I added.

- "Hi, Ben." she said, with a sultry tone that made me a little weak in the knees.

- "Yeah." said Marco. "Uh ... it's all good. We can cab it home, later. You ... ah, you two have a nice night." He turned towards me, and I could read his lips: "Are - you - fuckin' - kidding - me?" Somehow, he resisted the urge to give me a high five.

I offered Millie my arm - after all, she'd gotten plenty of practice already at grabbing my shirt. She put her small hand on my sleeve, and we left the nightclub.

- "This is very nice of you." she said.

- "It's my pleasure." I said. "Ah - I don't have a fancy car. It's reliable, though."

- "Just like you?" said Millie.

I didn't have a clever comeback.

The ambient noises of night-time downtown Toronto were strangely soothing, after the sensory assault of the nightclub. I could finally breathe.

- "That wasn't your scene at all, was it?" she said.

- "Was it that obvious?"

She had a high, tinkling laugh. "Don't worry, cowboy. You made the right choice, coming here tonight."

My car was still where I'd left it. I opened the passenger door and held it for her. She smiled at that, too.

- "I live way out in Port Credit." she said. I didn't know exactly where that was, but I suspected that it was at least 30-40 minutes away.

"Is your place closer?" she asked.

- "Maybe ten minutes."

- "Really?" She looked at me with new appreciation. "Got anything to drink?"

- "Only beer and wine."

- "That sounds good. Your place it is."

I drove. I resisted the temptation to ask her the question that had been on the edge of my lips ever since she'd dragged me on to the dance floor: 'Why me?'

She was silent for a few minutes. Then she spoke.

"I don't usually approach guys."

- "You must get hit on all the time." I said.

- "That's not the same. I mean ... it happens. A lot. But it can be a pain, right?"

- "I know what you mean." I said, with a straight face. "By the 7th or 8th time, I just want them to leave me alone."

She smiled. "I'm just saying that I don't usually have to make the first move. It is what it is. And you're definitely not the type of guy I'm used to."

- "Thank you. I guess."

- "Don't knock it, Ben. You're different. Maybe that's why I was interested. Like I said, I usually don't approach guys."

- "I'm very glad you chose me." I said. My confidence had re-surfaced. She'd asked me to take her to my place. Millie wasn't just hustling me for a ride home.

- "Let's hope it works out." she said. She was still reserving judgment - couldn't blame her for that, I suppose.

My apartment wasn't all that big, and it certainly wasn't luxurious. It didn't have many feminine touches, either. But I kept it clean and tidy - and the fridge was well-stocked. Millie was pleasantly surprised that I had a bottle of Riesling. I popped the cork, and then snuck into my bedroom to make sure that I hadn't left anything gross in plain view.

By the time I returned, and poured two glasses, Millie was examining my bookcases.

- "What are these trophies for?" she asked.

- "Track." I said. "Mostly long-distance running. Cross-country. Although I did compete in the Heptathlon one year."

Millie frowned. "Is that like the decathlon?"

- "It is - but seven events, instead of ten. 60 meter sprint, long jump, shot put, high jump, 60 meter hurdles, pole vault, and 1,000 meters."

- "So you're like ... some kind of all-around athlete?"

- "I don't know about that. I finished 12th out of 16."

- "Still." said Millie. "What about these?"

- "Running. 1500, 4 X 800 relay ..."

- "That's a lot of running." she said. "And what about all of this?" Millie was running her manicured nails across the spines of my book collection.

- "Just some of my favourites."

- "You must really like this guy - Terry Pratchett? What kind of stuff does he write?"

- "Uh - fantasy humour."

- "You're a strange guy, Ben." she said. She raised her wine glass in my direction. "But I like you. I acted on my instincts, tonight - and so far, I haven't been disappointed."

Millie stepped closer. I should've been a bit intimidated by how attractive she was, but she'd made it abundantly clear that she wasn't here just to see my trophies. I put my arms around her, and pulled her even closer, until she could feel how hard I was against her lower stomach.

I bent my head, and kissed her lightly on the lips.

Millie wasn't here to be romanced. She kissed me back, but I felt her hands on my belt buckle a moment later.

This girl was aggressive. She obviously played by a set of rules I wasn't familiar with. She had my pants around my ankles in a matter of seconds, and she was beginning to kneel down - not easy, in high heels.

- "Whoa." I said. I took Millie by the arms, and pulled her back up.

- "What are you doing?"

- "Ladies first." I said. "I just need to free my legs." I kicked off my shoes, and removed my pants entirely. Then I picked her up, with my hands on her practically bare ass, and carried her to my bedroom.

Millie didn't protest. I put her down, and unzipped her dress. She was wearing a cute little bra, which promised more than it delivered. Underneath the padding, she had small breasts. Her little boobs were capped with lovely erect nipples.

I knelt by the side of the bed, and kissed her again - much more aggressively. Millie had said that I was different: I'd gotten the impression that she was accustomed to leading, to setting the pace. I was going to reverse that, tonight.

After a brief, but passionate kissing session, I dipped my head to her little breasts. She didn't react all that much - not one of her erogenous zones, I guess. I went lower.

She had a piercing in her navel as well. When I put my hands on her knees, and gently pushed them apart, Millie balked.

- "Hey." she said. "I'm, uhh ... not exactly fresh down there."

I understood. She'd been dancing - energetically - for several hours. But then, she was ready to go down on me, when I'd been sweating while she was grinding her ass on my crotch. There was no need, either, to explain that my ex-girlfriend had insisted that I eat her pussy in all sorts of weather. No suckee, no fuckee - that was Rachel's policy.

Millie wasn't fresh. But her sweat wasn't overly pungent. Once I got going, she tasted pretty damn good, to tell the truth. She had prominent clit, and I enjoyed exploring her with my lips, my tongue and my fingers.

- "Motherfucker!" she shouted, as she came the first time.

I soon discovered that Millie had a competitive streak. She threw me onto my bed, and attacked my erection with her mouth and hands. She was little rougher with my testicles than I cared for.

Time to re-take the initiative. I turned her around, and skinned on a condom. Then I thrust into her from behind. We'd been building towards this all night - Millie's ass, and my cock.

I'd guessed correctly. She loved it. Somehow, I managed to hang on until she came again. Then I lost what was left of my self-control, and jammed my cock into her until I blew my load into the condom.

I have a vague memory of removing the rubber, and tossing it into my waste paper basket. Millie didn't ask if she could stay over; she just fell asleep.

***

I woke with Millie's spectacular ass pressed against my morning erection, and my hand on her little breast. I smiled as I remembered last night's athletics.

It was time to be a good host, though. I disengaged from her, and pulled on a t-shirt and some track pants. I pulled my robe off the back of the door, and left it on the foot of the bed, so that she'd realize I meant it for her. Then I went into the kitchen to get something ready for breakfast.

It must have been the coffee. Millie staggered out of the bedroom (wearing my robe).

- "What time is it?" she grumbled.

- "Just about 9:00."

- "Who the hell gets up at nine on a Sunday morning?"

- "Someone who has to make breakfast for their guest." I didn't bother to mention that I would normally have been out the door before 8 for my morning run.

- "You're a prince." she muttered.

- "Hardly." I said. "But we could make a case for you as a Princess."

She accepted yogurt and a few pieces of an orange - along with two cups of coffee.

"How are you not married already?" she asked.

- "Haven't found the right woman." I said. "Although ... you made a pretty good audition last night."

Millie wasn't drunk. She wasn't groggy from lack of sleep, either.

- "You're a good guy, Ben. Last night was awesome. But I'm not what you're looking for. Trust me. I'm just not ... all deep and stuff."

- "I'm not what you're looking for, either?"

Millie was a great fuck. She was the first one-night stand of my life, and I was still sailing on that high. But I wasn't kidding myself. We had very little in common.

- "Hate to break it to you, Ben - we're probably not soul mates." She cracked a little smile. "I like clubbing, and partying. I'm not ready to settle down, but when I am, it'll be with a guy with money. No offence."

- "You've seen my car." I said. She's also remarked, earlier, that she knew the club wasn't my 'scene'.

- "I like you, though. I think we could be friends. I'd say fuck buddies, too, except ... I have a couple of friends who'd probably love to meet you."