Going Through With it

The first of several requests I have been working on. If anyone wants to volunteer to take a crack at editing to the next level, let me know...

***

"Nervous?" he asked her as they sat at the light. "We don't have to go through with it. We can just turn around and go home. We can get stoned, go to bed..."

They had talked about it for years. For months they had gotten serious, put up a profile, and shopped for the right guy. For two weeks she had worked on the man with the nice smile, flat abs, and broad shoulders. Over the last few days, they had talked about it, seriously, and planned. Now, that she had spent all afternoon getting ready, bracing herself for it, coming to terms with the reality of it all, he wanted to back out. She glared at him.

"I'm just saying," he said.

"We can't back out now," she said. knowing it wasn't true. The truth of it, when it really came down to it, was that she didn't want to back out. Yes, she was nervous. Yes, she was a little scared. There were aspects to it she didn't like. She didn't like that she was a foregone conclusion. She didn't like that she hadn't actually met him. She had wanted the first meeting to be over coffee or breakfast or something when there were no expectations, but that hadn't worked out. Of course, she was nervous but really, wasn't that part of it.

He parked in the lot in front of the hotel. They had been there before, several times. It was sort of a secret getaway for them. A few times last summer they had booked a room and escaped their children to get stoned and spend the night. She liked the idea that she was familiar with the location.

"You have everything?" he asked. They had discussed what she might need. She had a roll of condoms, a small travel sized tube of KY and a taser. Her safety was covered... at least her physical safety.

He turned the truck off. She looked over at him. How did she feel about him? Was she pleased that he was willing to let her do this? Was she excited to be fulfilling a fantasy of his? Was she angry with him for something? She realized she was giving him a look, didn't want to think about what the look was, and leaned over. She kissed him.

"It'll be fun. An hour maybe and I will come down and get you. We will talk about it and then you can use me, your dirty little slut, any way you want."

He growled a little, kissed her back, and opened the door.

"Seriously, call me if you need me. I'll be right here," he said.

He walked towards the lobby and disappeared into the mirrored glass doors. He would sit at the bar, watch the intro, see what the guy looked like. If she needed rescuing all she needed to do was drop her purse and he would step in.

She needed to make sure she didn't drop her purse.

With him, well out of sight she slipped out of the truck. She had 15 minutes and a secret. She walked around the side of the hotel to where the dumpsters were. From her purse, she pulled the little plastic tube. She had been forced to ask more people than she thought to find someone to hook her up but eventually, the kid at work had come through. He had come through in spades. The joint he had gotten her was one of the fancy ones from Oregon or California or someplace, a manufactured marijuana cigarette. A full gram and Oregon's finest. She lit it and sucked in the acrid smoke. She coughed a little, but just a little. She starred out at the water past the marina. She took several more drags, felt the herb go to work, and grinned.

Her husband was no longer the asshole that got off on the idea of his wife fucking a stranger. The stranger was no longer a creeper looking for women on the adult friend website. She was no longer a slut trying to get fucked. All the things she had been so worried about in the truck were washed away. She felt good, she felt sexy, and, just as she usually did when she was a little stoned, she felt horny.

Images flashed through her mind. Images from her past, It was a long time ago a long way away, she was young, the boys were eager. She took a final draw from the joint and slipped it back into the tube. She sealed it up in case she wanted more later and slipped it back in her purse.

She checked her phone.

"I love you, baby. Have fun!" her husband had texted her.

"I got here a little early, sitting at the bar. I wore the only red shirt I could find." the stranger had texted.

"ARE YOU DOING IT?!?!?! HAHAHAHAHA!" her best friend had texted.

She didn't reply to any of them. It was five after. She was fashionably late. She took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders back, ran her hands down her dress, and headed for the hotel bar.

The profile had been a joke, more of a prank than anything. He hadn't even written his own profile. "You are too nice," Yvette had said. He had been on dates since his divorce, some of them had been disasters of course but some had gone okay. He had walked the women, mid-forties, not unattractive, to their door, usually the door of the family home they had won in the divorce. He had kissed them. They would invite him in. He would decline, run away, and then ignore them as they texted him over the next couple of days. "The first one is the hardest. You just need it to be a situation where you have to go through with it. Once you get one they will come easier and once you are getting laid, you won't walk around moping about her all the time."

If only Yvette would have slept with him. "Oh, honey. No..." she had purred when he had thrown it out there hoping it sounded casual like he was teasing.

He sat at the bar watching people walk in. He had seen pictures of her. A couple in bikinis, a couple in the same black dress as if they had been taken on the same night, and several of her naked, posed in her bedroom in the middle of her bed. She had medium brown hair. She was small, a little over five foot tall, lean and fit with smallish breasts. He watched as people entered the bar looking for her. Guy - guy - couple - fat woman - young woman - the clock seemed not to move until his watch showed seven and then time seemed to fly as his heart raced and no one, not one single person, entered the bar. He ordered a second glass of wine. He didn't want to get drunk.

That was a lie. He wanted to be shit faced he had just been chided against it.

He was looking at the bartender, not the door, and she surprised him.

"Okay, that is a bad shirt," she said.

"Isn't it? Ugh." he had gone to the mall with a single thing in mind, she had told him to wear a red shirt. he wanted a dress shirt. He didn't want flannel, didn't think a plaid would count, and he ended up buying a bright red dress shirt. He felt stupid.

"Heather," she said softly.

"Brian," he replied. He held out his hand, she leaned in to hug him. The awkwardness continued when he switched to open arms and she switched to an extended hand.

Happily, she laughed.

They both put their arms down. He had stood when he heard her voice and stood a foot above her small head and delicate face. He sat down and with their lips more appropriately leveled she kissed him.

Stunned, he kissed her back. he fought to keep his body from shaking. It was a good kiss, a really good one, tender, affectionate, and inside his pants, his long-neglected cock twitched to life.

Andy was uncomfortable and ordered a bourbon, straight and drank the first two down quickly. When he ordered a third, staring over at the tall man in the crimson dress shirt with thick arms and shoulders stretching the cheap shirt awkwardly the bartender hesitated. "Will this be charged to a room?" the man had asked.

"No, Cash," Andy replied, tossing a stack of bills onto the bar.

"Are you driving?"

"No... I have a room... I just don't want to charge to it." he explained, not knowing how else to explain it. It's not my room, actually, its that fucker over there that paid for the room, I am just letting him use my wife for the night, he thought. The bartender relented, brought him a fresh glass and he watched.

As she entered his heart beat hard and arrhythmically in his chest. He felt the blood gush through his neck. His temples ached and his eyesight blurred. He took a large swallow of air. His blood pressure was out of control.

She kissed the man. They hadn't said two words to each other and she kissed him. He watched her hand go to his chest when she went in for another. They mumbled at each other something about how she was excited to finally get fucked the way she needed to get fucked. He watched her order a glass of wine. She never drank wine. he watched her sit, her dress part. He watched her nipples press at the thin material of her sluttiest dress. She was excited... or cold... but he knew better, it was excited.

She smiled at the man, a happy sort of smile.

He growled, sipped his drink, and for a moment tried to look at the television. It didn't work. His attention focused back on her. She was so pretty. He loved the makeup around her eyes. He loved her plump bright red lips. He loved her tits poking at the dress.

He hated this. All of it.

It made his cock swell in his jeans until it ached. She was going to do it. She was going to fuck this guy. He wasn't going to do a fucking thing about it either.

And then she turned. It was a coy little turn. She tipped her wine glass to her lips and over the rim, she looked at him.

She lowered her glass but still, left her eyes locked on his. She raised an eyebrow, winked, and then, slowly, deliberately, knowing exactly what she was doing ran her tongue along her upper lip.

She blew him a kiss.

When this was over. When she came back downstairs to get him, he was going to fuck her as he had never fucked her before.

He smiled back at her, gave her a little nod, and let the jealousy, horniness, anger, and fear pulse through his body. Fuck, he thought, he wanted to fuck her.

He nodded. Finally, she felt like she could breathe. How she had managed to agree to a glass of wine she had no idea but she had gotten the words out.

For a while, as she sat beside the stranger she had struggled not to look at Andy imagining it was easier. Slowly, at least it felt like it had come on slowly, she had realized she wasn't going to go through with it. Her brain, struggling like a dog trying to walk on a frozen lake and spun about trying to figure out how to do it but she had decided. She would pay for the room. She would apologize. She felt a little bad, as if she had run a scam on the poor man, but in the end, it was her vagina and fuck the stranger, fuck Andy, she would do, or not do, what she pleased.

Deciding not to do it relaxed her and she took a long drink of wine and looked over at her husband. As she expected the look on his face was one of disgust. Backing out was the right decision.

She had gotten what she wanted. She had gotten the thrill of another man. She had felt the soul inspiring sensation of independence she felt she had given up all those years ago. She had felt the way the stranger had looked at her, appreciative, a look of wanting. That was what she was after. She thought she would feel bad for him for a little while but she would take her husband upstairs, pull her dress up, and let him take her from behind.

A cock was a cock.

Bent over she could imagine Mr. Red Shirt behind her, couldn't she. Once it was inside you was ane one dick different from any other. She could imagine being used and then, after, turn around, lay back, and relax as her husband moved on top of her.

Andy was not prone to smiles. She couldn't recall the last time he had laughed, but staring at him over her wine glass he had nodded at her.

She winked. She hoped it hadn't looked stupid. She always suspected she looked stupid when she winked. His mouth and curled, just a little, just on one side, it was about the best she could hope for. It was what Andy did when he was pleased.

It was, after all, his fantasy.

It was a while ago. His fortieth birthday. "Whatever you want. Tell me. What is your fantasy." They had been in Mexico. They had been drinking tequila. She wanted to make it special. What was his fantasy? She imagined him tying her up. He had mentioned that before. She imagined him wanting her ass. She had done it before, not with Andy but before Andy, it wasn't her thing but if it was what he wanted. he could have asked for another girl, a three-way, wasn't that what all guys wanted? She was drunk enough sitting in the little club in Cancun to do it. She wouldn't go down on the other woman, but if he really wanted it, she would do what she could. Nope, that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to watch her get fucked. She was so stunned she couldn't do it. They talked about it. they went back to the room and teased each other, talking about it, but they hadn't done it.

"So, um, would you like to get an appetizer or something?" the man asked her. It drew her back into the moment and she turned and looked at him.

"Brian, right?"

"Yeah," he said. He was good looking. Better looking than she imagined. She smiled at him.

"No. No, I'm not hungry," she said.

"I guess I'm just... I'm nervous," he said.

She grinned at him.

"Finish your drink," she said, purring. She stood up. He was so tall she had to look up at him even when he was sitting. when he lowered his glass she took his chin in her hand and kissed him again, this time for show. As their lips moved against each other she allowed her tongue to slip from her mouth and move along his lips. When finally he backed away, sucking in a deep breath she leaned into his ear. "Take me upstairs," she whispered. With her teeth she tugged his earlobe briefly and then, gathering her purse up from the bar, stepped away from her seat and walked slowly allowing anyone who wanted to admire her ass as she headed for the elevators.

Andy had one chance. The man was standing, waiting on his check, his wife had walked out of the bar. He had to move, move fast. He rose and scanned the room. The fastest route was around the pillar to his right and he set his course.

His attention focused on the man. He had handed off a credit card. The bartender had walked off. Seconds rushed by like a river plunging through rapid. he walked faster, conscious only of the man, the brief moment he had to say something, and the pillar he needed to avoid.

The attack came out of nowhere. It caught him off guard. his limbs felt entangled. Something filled his face and his eyes pressed closed. He lowered his shoulder and forced himself forward. With his right hand, he made a fist. He pulled his arm back. He struggled to maintain his balance.

His arm flew forward, not quite a jab, more of a roundhouse, and connected. His knuckles flashed in pain at the force of the contact and his attacker fell. He ducked his head and opened his eyes. A crashing sort of thump filled the quiet restaurant and bar. Vanquished his attacker lay on the floor. It was much taller than him, probably outweighed him by 100 pounds, and the combination of his punch and the force he had transferred through the bent shoulder had taken it out. The tree lay splayed along the black tile, soil spilled out about the pot.

He turned to look for the stranger, he was gone.

He caught the eye of the bartender.

"Out," the man said softly.

"I... I can't."

"Out," he said again.

"I... I'm sorry... I'm just... I'm meeting someone. I need to be here."

"You can wait outside."

"I'm so sorry. Really, I'm not drunk. I won't make trouble. I'll drink tea. I'll order... what's the most expensive thing on the menu?"

At a small table in the back corner of the restaurant, Andy settled in. He had his phone open on the table beside him. He sipped his tea. Anxiety and excitement fed the twitching of his foot beneath the table and he waited patiently for his lobster Thermadore. sixty-five fucking dollars for fish. He had to laugh.

Brian was not an overly large man. He stood six foot two and weighed just a stick of butter more than 200 pounds but in the confined space of the elevator beside the petite blonde he felt awkward and imagined the scene where Hagrid meets Potter in the small shack in the first film. He turned to her as they rose slowly, gathered her into his hands and arms and pulled her to him. He kissed her and felt the excitement rise in his body at the feel of a woman in his arms.

He was good at the kiss. It was the one piece of feedback he had gotten. He enjoyed the kiss, that was probably why he was good at it. For him it was like dancing, the mixing of bodies, the realization of desire, he nearly lifted her from the floor as they embarrassed, she was marvelous and he told her so.

"Marvelous?" she purred. He looked down on her tiny green eyes, her nearly white blond hair and her thick red lips.

"Marvelous!" he said.

"Mmmm..." she kissed him again as the doors opened and then pulled him forcefully by the arm into the hallway.

"712," he said. It was nearly at the end of the hall. He pressed the key card against the doorknob and with a click it allowed them into the room.

"Give me a second," she whispered. He stepped into the room. She stepped to her left into the bathroom and he sat nervously waiting, wondering what the expectation was. Was he to be the aggressor? He struggled with that. Was he to be tender, loving? That was how he normally made love. He didn't know. He was forty-seven years old and scared as a schoolboy playing spin the bottle in his neighbor's basement.

It was silly really. Heather stood in the bathroom gripping the counter. She caught her breath. She had gone back and forth between excited and frightened, ready, and ready to run, since she had walked into the hotel but there, in the elevator, only moments before, it all cleared. She felt so small, so vulnerable, in the hands of the big man.

She looked up at herself and smiled. She reached behind her back, undid the clasp, and wriggled herself free of her dress. In the mirror, she looked briefly at her too small breasts, her too large belly, and her oddly shaped hips. He didn't seem to see any of that. She flushed the toilet, flipped off the light, and stepped into the dark hotel room.

"where are you?" she said softly.

"Here," he muttered.

"Mmm." she could just make out shapes in the dark. "Come get me!" she said in almost a whisper.

It was as if he descended on her. His large hands drifted down her back swallowing her up. His lips met hers. Against her belly, she felt a cock through his pants.

There was no thinking, not anymore. It was acting, reacting, feeling and being felt.

He felt a hand on her breast and the pinch of his fingers on her nipple.

He felt his hand gather up her ass and grip it and she felt fingers and muscled and she purred and he lifted her.

Her legs felt weightless when the floor disappeared. She was consumed by him and floating and then there was the bed and she growled a sort of catlike groan and his lips were on her neck, she loved lips on her neck and teeth and he sucked at her breast, his hand on her ass.

He was everywhere and then nowhere as he explored her.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he whispered and her legs parted for him. she felt the scruff on his chin against the soft flesh of her belly.

Not yet, she wanted to say but she didn't. His mouth teased her belly button and then the small mound above her panties.

She felt the tug of the satin and elastic being pulled aside.

"Ahhhhhhh..." she gasped in a long slow breath.

His tongue was broad.

"Oh!"

and it passed over her lips. Her mind wandered and she brought it back, looking down on him. He had a full head of dusty blonde air and she wrapped her fingers around his head feeling his kiss upon her. She pulled him to her.

"Uhhng." She hated the sound. She locked her jaw.