Impact of Collision Ch. 01

This story is a collaboration with SiteNonSite. This is the first chapter of a series. I hope that you enjoy the beginning. There have been a few edits since the original posting.

And as always I encourage you to take the time to read all of SiteNonSite's stories, if you haven't already.

"Ohmygodimsosorry! Ohmygod! I'm such a... let me!"

She looks panicked. I've soaked her. She's not wearing a bra.

"Please, I can fix this," I promise. She had been sitting next to me at the little bar, her with her date, me with mine. I'd been listening and admiring her first-date patter while I waited for my date to arrive... and as much as I could after he'd come. She is way more interesting than the finance bro I'd saddled myself with for the evening.

I had turned to stand up with my glass when our table was ready but hadn't expected her to be getting up at the same time. I doused her. We were facing each other, both looking at her dark nipples showing through the sheer silk of her shirt. The horror on her face mirrored my own. Thank god it was rosé.

"Trust me," I plead as I pull her towards me so my chest is blocking any view of hers.

"May I have some napkins and a pint of seltzer?" I ask the bartender, who is a lovely older blonde. She understands and snaps into action.

Seltzer in hand, we pushed past a girl waiting for the restroom.

"Hey!"

"We'll be quick," I lie.

I usher her into the little bathroom and catch myself starting to kneel. I have to force myself to just dip my knees and stoop. We exchanged a look. Did she see what I did?

I dab at the stain with the seltzer. The rosé is bright pink against the cream silk; the seltzer is making it all more see-through. Her nipples are oily-looking through the silk. I am flushing with shame.

"Disaster," I apologize.

She untucks and pulls her shirt away from her chest, allowing me to mop it with the napkin more easily. Again I fight the impulse to kneel.

'Stop it!' I think.

"You're Sarah?" she asks, making me look up in surprise. "I heard you introduce yourself to your date, I'm Claire."

"I know," I admit. "And you're a curator, which is the coolest thing ever!"

"Sounds like your date is as interesting as mine," she laughs. "But yeah, I work in a gallery in TriBeCa - 'curator' is inflating what I do. I'm more of an overblown 'gallery girl' still."

"Well the artist you're working with sounds amazing," I tell her.

"Sophie," she says absently. She's looking over at her reflection.

If it weren't for her hazel eyes, which are warm and kind, I might describe Claire as an icy blonde. Her long thick hair is pulled back tight into a lovely loose bun, and her face is beautiful, perfectly made up. More makeup than I wear, but not too much. She looks elegant and mature in a way I can only dream of.

"I'm so sorry for wrecking your date," I tell her.

"Yeah, don't be, he sucks," she laughs. "We couldn't even get to our table and he was already talking about Ayn Rand."

"Mine too!" I blurt. "I mean, Bitcoin, but same thing right?" She laughs, which makes me feel good. Her laugh is light and feminine. Like Audrey Hepburn. Seriously elegant.

"I mean I knew it was coming as soon as I set eyes on him," I blurt, "but fuck!"

I'm nervous and babbling, but whatever.

"Well I think your John Gault is better looking than mine," she tells me. I must look as clueless as I feel because she smiles and explains, "That's a character from one of Rand's books, John Gault."

"Oh. I've never read her, I just know what I learn from awful dates."

Claire narrows her eyes at me, sizing me up.

"I like you, Sarah."

I feel myself blushing and look down at my work. I'm pleasantly surprised by how well I've done getting rid of the pink.

"May I?" I ask before pushing my left hand up into her shirt, palm out. There is a stack of cottony white paper towels on the counter, and I begin drying the shirt using my hand as a backer.

"This was a pretty elaborate ruse to get into my shirt," Claire quips.

"Yeah, uh, well, uhh," I stammer, "this is as far as I've gone with anyone on a date in a long time!"

"Me too!" she says, as we share a nervous laugh.

I finish drying it as much as I can before pulling my hand out, the back of my hand accidentally brushing against her stiff nipple.

"Ohmygod! I'm so sorry!" I blurt out.

The shirt falls back against Claire's breasts, it's no longer transparent, but her nipples are tenting the damp silk. They look oily, dark, and now... stiff.

"Looks like the girls are awake," she says, looking down at herself. "I can't go out like this."

'This is all my fault,' I think. I look away, feeling my face flush anew.

"Do you want to tell me more about the show you're working on?" I ask doubtfully. "I mean until they uh... go down?"

I can see my reflection in the mirror, I'm beet red. Claire is tucking her blouse back in.

"No... What do you think?" She asks, looking at herself in the mirror. "Would you fuck me?"

Her shirt is still a little bit damp, and her dark nipples are hard and long. Her expression is brazen and fierce. I wonder if I've ever looked that sexy, if I've ever looked half that sexy.

"I'd totally fuck you," I deadpan.

"It's decided, I'll give them all a show," she says to her reflection. "Sarah, I'm guessing you're the highlight of my evening. Thanks so much for taking care of me."

"Oh but-"

"No really. You're a gem." She gives me a quick peck on each cheek as she leaves.

I just stand there with a stupid grin on my face, watching her stride through the crowd - high beams on. I notice my date, he's standing near the hostess, looking annoyed.

'Disaster,' I thought as I looked at his sour expression, my heart dropping.

I went through the motions until my date ended abruptly. I looked around as I walked out but Claire and her date had already gone.

I took the subway back uptown and went over my date in my mind. He'd seemed a bit evasive when talking about himself, all he would talk about was work. He showed up late, yet he was annoyed at me for rushing to the bathroom to help Claire.

'You were my highlight too, Claire,' I thought.

Even before the entrees arrived my "wife-alert" alarm bells had started ringing. A month or so after Danny left, I'd started seeing a guy named William who I'd liked. He was handsome in a nerdy way, funny, and had lots of interesting ideas, but after a few weeks, I'd begun to suspect that William was married. He said he was from out of town initially, but then he always messaged about catching up mid-week, he had only wanted to come to my place but would never stay the night. He was never free on weekends and didn't want to talk on the phone. Not only was his social media almost non-existent, but he also freaked out the one time I said something about posting a picture of us.

It all fell into place when I saw him on a date with another woman. It was his wife, I was sitting close enough to them to see her ring and overhear them tell the waiter they were celebrating their second wedding anniversary. I'd imagine walking up to his table, dumping wine down his front. Telling his wife he's a cheating piece of shit. But instead, I'd sobbed uncontrollably all the way home in the backseat of a cab. The driver must have thought I was a madwoman.

Tonight's "John Gault" had reminded me of William from beginning to end. When the waiter placed the check on the table. Mr. Gault started to pat down his pockets, pretending to search for his wallet.

"Do you mind getting this?" he asked. "I must have accidentally left my wallet at work in my rush."

I told him he could PayPal or Venmo me, but the young Master of The Universe said he didn't use internet banking at all. Neither did William. Funny thing.

I told him I didn't take Bitcoin and told the waiter to go ahead and put half on my card. He looked on uncomfortably as John Gault suddenly remembered a billfold he had in his pocket. He paid and left without so much as a goodbye.

'Why is it so hard?' I wondered miserably. I didn't sob uncontrollably, but I cried on the fucking subway while everyone around me studiously looked away and pretended tears weren't streaming down my cheeks.

"God almighty, I'm that girl," I'd thought miserably.

When I'd gotten out of the hole I'd had a voicemail waiting for me. Without checking I knew it was my mom. It's always my mom. I pocketed my phone. It'd been too late to call her back, but I'd promised myself I'd listen to it before I go to bed.

I told myself that I'm glad to be walking downtown away from the crowds of Times Square, weaving my way, well south of the strange attractor that is the bus terminal, with its madmen, creeps, and grifters. The last thing I'd needed was for one of them to see my ruined makeup. My ancient and funky tenement waited for me. It was strangely comforting, squeezed into an otherwise dense and narrow commercial block, it felt like home. I'd climbed the steps and listened to people arguing and playing music behind the closed doors I passed. I made my way slowly to the fifth floor, smelled the spicy dinners my neighbors had cooked, relieved to make it into my apartment without being seen by any of them.

I thought about how young I was when I met Danny as I undressed. We were high school sweethearts. He'd been two years older, good-looking, tall and fit, captain of the hockey team, and an actual choir boy - everything my parents wanted, but everything I had thought I wanted too. I had loved him, but I had been just a girl. When I told him I was applying to schools out of state he'd been so angry, so sure I was breaking up with him. My parents had sided with him.

"What do you need to go away for?" My father had demanded. "UB is a great school."

I looked at myself in the mirror, standing there in just my bra and panties. I pulled my hair back so I could see myself, the black eyeliner tears streaking my cheeks. I looked like a Goth raccoon. I felt so dumb.

"Almost a blonde, almost a redhead," Danny used to say. He always seemed a little disappointed, not only in the fact that I wasn't a sexy hot-head, but also that I wasn't a slutty airhead. I couldn't help it that I'm not a more demonstrative lover, but I proved once and for all that I wasn't dumb when I got my full ride at Brown.

They couldn't stop me from leaving, not my parents, not even Danny, but I promised them all I'd be true to him. And I had been. Four years of being long-distance. My friends at school had said I was crazy. I told them that they didn't know Danny. To be fair to them, however, Danny didn't want to know them. He still hung out with his old teammates, was well-liked at work and church, but besides me, he hadn't had any truly close friends. He always seemed lonely to me, especially after he graduated, but when I tried to introduce him to my friends, he had made it very clear he wasn't interested in being friends with "college kids".

I looked at my boobs, wishing they were smaller. Danny had loved them, had been so proud of them, but also would get angry if anyone looked. I had to hide them to avoid fights and arguments. I thought of Claire's breasts, her dark nipples, they were the perfect size; a nice handful.

"You are a little frisky tonight," I told my reflection. 'Way more than a handful,' I thought to myself as I reached behind to undo the clasp of my bra. Looking at my breasts, they aren't super perky, but they aren't saggy either. I wished they were smaller, but they are a nice shape, long, domed by puffy nipples. My areolas, a soft rose pink against my pale complexion.

"Strawberries and cream," my mother would say.

'A nice mouthful' I thought as I touched the soft swollen flesh with my fingers, but I was picturing Claire's lips. I shook my head, surprised by the image.

I grabbed my nightie from the hook on the door. A sheer pink thing I got for myself not long after Danny left. I'd chosen it because I thought it looked like something Mary Tyler Moore would have put on for Dick Van Dyke. It showed off my breasts and nipples, flared, and came down just below my ass, it made me feel prettier than Danny ever did.

I looked at my bedroom with pride. Besides the massive Shakespeare In The Park poster covering one wall - "Wherefore Rejoice? O You Hard Hearts, You Cruel Men Of Rome," it reads, massive fist raised defiantly - the shelves full of books were my only real decoration. The queen-sized bed, my only luxury.

Everyone - my family, my friends at school, Danny - had expected me to fail; to move back home with my tail between my legs. Instead, I'd graduated and started my own studio, then got the job with the Times and moved to New York. I'd asked Danny to join me and he'd lasted three months before moving back home.

Laying in the dark, listening to the roar of a garbage truck endlessly loading and compacting industrial trash from one of the nearby buildings, I forced myself to check my mother's voicemail.

"I'm just wondering how your date went. Please call when you get home, I don't mind if it's late. I love you, Sarah Beth."

"Hi, mom."

"Sarah Beth!" She sounded drowsy. "Did you have a nice night? Was he a gentleman?"

"Perfect," I told her, but I'd imagined Claire's wry smile, her lips, her dark nipples.

"I had a really nice time," I lied.

"Oh good," she said. "Not too good a time I hope."

"Mom..."

"I was single once, Sarah Beth, I remember."

"It was just dinner, nothing happened."

"Have you called Father Mike at St Joseph's?"

'Forgive me father for I have sinned...' I think despite myself.

"Mom, it's late, I'm going to bed."

"I was just asking."

"I know mom, good night."

"Good night Sarah Beth, I love you."

"I love you too mom."

In the darkness, I watched lights from passing trucks and cabs crawl across my ceiling. I pictured Claire's nipples.

I didn't get a look at her date, but I found myself imagining she had taken him home. I pictured her undressing in front of him until she was entirely naked; long lithe form, smooth tan skin. Her shadowy date, still fully dressed in his suit pants and dress shirt. Imagined her reclining on a large white sofa, her arms spread like wings across its back, tits pointing at the ceiling. The shiny black toes of his shoes push into the carpet as he kneels between her spread legs.

I pushed my hand into my panties as I imagined him eating her shaved pussy. His wet lips slid over hers, his tongue licking her hairless cunt. Pictured her watching him labor and smiling, amused at his subservience, but then losing herself in pleasure; her eyes hooded.

I'd stroked and fingered myself while I imagined listening to her moan in ecstasy. Felt an orgasm rising through me as I fantasized about the smooth feel of her skin against my tongue, the tangy taste of her pussy as she bucked her hips against my face, her fingers in my hair...

I was breathing hard as I stopped touching myself and wiped my fingers on my bare belly. Frustrated and shocked with myself, I push my nightie back down and stare at the lights from the street. A truck makes a great crashing metal noise as it speeds over a pothole. It's a long time before I get to sleep.

"Bria- Bill? Bill, sorry - I'll be right back?" I say, excusing myself as I stand and turn. I just need to get away, to breathe some air Bill hasn't already sucked the oxygen out of. I'm looking at the gray roots of the hair around his bald spot at the back of his head as I stand. Too fast I guess. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the cup coming towards mine, but too late. It explodes against mine.

"AH!!! PUTAIN! I can't believe..." I hear her cry as hot coffee explodes across my chest.

"SHIT!" I cry, afraid of being scalded.

"SHIT!" I cry as my grande macchiato wrapped in a java jacket, capped with a sippy lid and straw splashes my feet.

"SHIT!" I cry as I see my shirt.

"Ohfuckimsosorry-" I hear her whine.

My t-shirt is soaked. I pull the drenched fabrics away from my skin and look up in utter bewilderment. Claire is looking at my chest in struck dumb by shock and horror.

"Claire?" I ask in total disbelief.

"Sarah!?!" she screeches, in near hysteria. "Oh fuck Sarah!!"

Her laughter echoes my embarrassment. Bill's face is twisted in a school marm's expression of shock and contempt. He is decidedly unamused. Smiling, Claire is pulling me to the back of the shop and into the bathroom. We're giggling like school girls.

"We should stop meeting like this," I tease.

"Seriously, one of us is going to get hurt... oh God you're not burned are you?"

"No, thank goodness I wasn't drinking a 'real' coffee," I say scornfully. It's unfair. I had stood up to escape Bill's 20-minute mansplaination of my poor taste in coffee drinks, but Claire has no way of knowing that, she just looks confused. "It wasn't that hot," I reassure her

Claire is running the tap and has pulled a pile of paper towels out of the dispenser, she is using them to dab nervously with cold water. She's not laughing any longer, she looks determined now, serious as a heart attack. She's a very pretty girl.

'How does she have hair like that on a Saturday morning?' I wonder. 'Does she get a blowout every day?'

"So what do you?" she asks absently as she mops at my tits.

"Infographics?" I tell her, watching as she looks up at me, waiting for more.

I look at her blank face. I'm used to that. I picture my parents' blank stares; Danny's... Claire meanwhile gives me a hard look, pressing me to explain, she has amazing hazel eyes.

"Graphs, charts, maps - but with shit-tons of data... information visualization... I work for the Times." She's looking at me in awe, her hand resting on my breast. I'm... not used to that.

"That's awesome!" She means it. She's pressing my breasts with the paper towels, and I realize I've gone strangely passive. Some part of me wonders why. I mean it's just a t-shirt, I should tell her not to bother. Instead, I'm allowing her to touch me.

I picture her again on the white sofa, arms outstretched, legs spread; heart pounding, nerves rising, I feel myself color and watch in horror as my nipples harden and rise against my wet shirt.

"My date sucks," I admit, trying to distract myself.

"The old guy?!" real disbelief. "I thought he was your boss... or..."

"My dad? His fucking profile picture must be from the early 90s," I tell her, blushing.

"I totally thought he was your dad!" She laughs but stifles it abruptly.

I can feel the tears. I tip my face back, opening my eyes wide, hoping they will subside - like tidewater. Claire looks mortified.

"Oh, shit I'm so sorry, I just... I meant it in a good way?" she jokes, but then more quietly, but so full of real concern, she tells me. "Sarah, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean anything by it."

"No, it's not- it's just that it wasn't supposed to be this way. Seven months ago I was engaged," I admit. Five months ago I would have spun on my heel as soon as I saw him..."

I picture Danny after I gave him back the ring. Remember watching him pack in anger, cramming his things in trash bags. "You love this city more than me," he'd said before slamming the door. That was seven months now.

"And now I'm being lectured by an old man about fucking coffee drinks - and this isn't even the third-worst date I've had this month."

"Hey, hey," she's touching the corner of my eye with a paper towel, it's cool and damp. Catching my tear before it can fall. "Don't let the bastards get you down," she whispers.

I lower my chin, and look at her, she dabs the other eye. She's smiling, it's a tentative, inviting smile. She's standing so close.