Sally and Bill, or is it Phil?

This is my entry to the 2019 Valentine's Day Contest. Please be kind with your stars. I'd also love to receive comments. I hope you like the story!

I was worried about money. My living style, not extravagant by any means, exceeded my income. I had a decent enough job, it was just that my salary was too low. I worked for corporate America and there was no way to ask for a raise. All pay scales were set in stone. Take it or leave it.

I supplemented my income in the old-fashioned way: with my Visa Card. Well, actually, with my Visa card, my Mastercard, and my Discover card. I had been doing this for some time, and now I was essentially at my credit limit for all three cards. I had $13k of credit card debt.

There's always parents, right? Not in my case. Stop going to restaurants? Already done. Move to a cheaper place? Been there, done that. Let's just cut to the chase: I was out of options, and I was worried. I even had trouble sleeping.

I now had to choose between food, rent, heat, and Internet. I already ate way too many beans and rice, and I did not want to sink to pet food. I had no choice but to pay rent; I was not about to go homeless! I could not live without the Internet which was keeping me sane, I hope you understand, and I had to keep my cell phone for work. So that meant heat. I used it only when I was worried I might otherwise have died of hypothermia.

What about modeling, you might ask? Why couldn't I just try modeling to earn some extra cash? Hah! Have you ever tried to land a modeling gig because you're poor? Besides, while I look decent enough, and I'm skinny mostly due to my near starvation diet (except for my boobs, which will probably outlive me), I'm not nearly pretty enough to be a model.

I was walking down Second Avenue, and when I walk in New York, I walk fast. I was lost in my thoughts and worries when I clumsily bumped into him. He was big, and it was as if I had walked into a moving brick wall. He had been text-walking and he walked right into me. I was barely able to remain standing, but I did, thank goodness.

He was apologetic and quickly apologized, insisting he buy me a coffee. Well, I had not been out for coffee for months! I only had coffee at home, for budgetary reasons, and it was instant coffee, of course. I mean, it was Nescafe Classico -- only the best instant coffee for me! He wasn't bad looking, a little older than me (I'm twenty-four) -- well, maybe quite a bit older than me, actually, but hey -- free coffee? I don't know, maybe he was 30? Early 30's? Did it matter?

"That's kind of you but I'm in a bit of a hurry," I said.

"Please, ma'am. I insist," he said.

"It's miss, not ma'am," I replied.

"In that case, I insist all the more!" he said.

In downtown one is never far from a coffee house, and he took me to one nearby called The Bean. It's quite pretty, with large picture windows all around. Also, I love coffee house coffee, so this was a real treat. The foamy milk in my drink was in the shape of a heart. I was charmed.

I pocketed some of the sugar packets to take home when nobody was looking. I'm really pathetic sometimes. My benefactor's name was Bill Smyrk. I didn't tease him about his name. Mine, after all, is Sally Lush.

Bill paid for my coffee, thank goodness, and I continued on to work with a small spring in my step. Bill clearly had money (most people do, at least compared to me! I am the canonical example of the working poor), and he was polite, kind and generous. My kind of guy! Oh yeah -- it didn't hurt a girl's eyes to look at him, either.

I was working the swing shift and when I left work it was at the usual 10PM time. It's a bit of a walk to the subway to get home, but walking is good for a girl, right? So there I am, walking up Second Avenue, when out of one of the more upscale bars exits a man who calls my name, "Sally!"

You always notice your name, but I'm not the only girl named Sally in New York, and there was no chance the call was for me, but then it came again, this time more complete, "Sally Lush!" Okay, there can't be two girls named Sally Lush, and even if there were, what are the chances we could both be on that block of Second Avenue at ten at night? So I turned around, and there he was: Bill Smyrk. Twice in one day?

"Hey, Sally, what a chance to meet you again!"

"Yes, it's quite odd. But nice, of course," I replied.

"Fancy a drink with me?" Bill said, gesturing towards the bar. He did not seem drunk or anything.

"Oh, thanks, but I haven't eaten since lunch and if I drink now I'll get sloshed right away," I said.

"I believe it, given how little you weigh. Look, I'm hungry too, so how about I buy you a bite to eat? I'd enjoy the company, to be honest," he said.

There's eight million people in New York, but that doesn't stop some of them from being lonely, I guess. Sometimes feeling all alone and being surrounded by people makes loneliness more unbearable than it would otherwise be, I suppose. I myself wasn't lonely because for one thing I had friends at work, and for another I had friends from college living in New York too, and for a third thing I had a third cousin who doubles as my best friend. But a free meal? That sounded great!

"Sure. It'd be nice not to eat alone for once," I replied.

"So is that a yes?" Bill asked. Nervous fellow.

"Yes, that's a yes. Lead the way, Bill."

Bill hailed a taxi. A taxi! The last time I rode in a taxi was, well, quite some time ago! My goodness, first a coffee house coffee, now a taxi, and next being treated to dinner? Wow! Then I wondered why were we in a taxi? There was a Chipotle down the street, a cute little Mexican place right next to the bar he had left, a slightly sleazy Indian place across the street, and a decent enough Chinese place a few blocks north. Why the taxi?

I found out. He liked fancy restaurants. "Italian food, or a nice steak?" Bill asked. "Personally, I'm in the mood for some juicy red meat, but I know lots of women these days are vegetarians, or only eat fish, you know," he said. Yep; he's a nervous fellow, alright.

"Meat's fine with me," I said. I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten red meat. It would be good to have some. Probably I could use the iron.

Steak houses in New York do not come cheap. We went to The Strip House on East 12th Street. "The strip refers to a NY strip steak I assume, not to burlesque," Bill said. Yep, nervous. I just smiled. Truth be told, I was charmed with Bill, and not just because he was buying me dinner, although that fact did not hurt at all! It didn't hurt even one little bit.

We began with cocktails, and my margarita went right to my head. We had red wine with dinner and by the time I had finished half of my steak I was seriously drunk. Bill looked by all appearances not to be feeling a thing, but then he's a man and they process alcohol differently, I'm told. Plus, he probably had at least seventy pounds on my 104-pound frame, half of which is my boobs, I'm sure.

"Aren't you going to finish your steak?" he asked.

"I have a small stomach. I have a small everything. Would you like to finish it?"

Bill declined, saying he was full, which thrilled me no end because I could ask for a doggie bag and then I'd have dinner tomorrow night too, and it'd be delicious, to boot! The attentive waiter had kept filling my wine glass; the red wine seemed to be bottomless. I did not notice that Bill had ordered a second bottle after the first!

When dessert was proposed I said yes, if only in the hope it might sober me up a little?

"I like chocolate after a good steak. Want to share the chocolate cake?" Bill asked.

"Sure," I said. "Thank you."

I had long ago begun to wonder if this was a date. Was Bill interested in me 'that way,' or did he just enjoy having some female company at dinner, as he initially said? One thing about being a female is that we always have to think ahead to formulate responses to all eventualities. I had been busy doing that.

So, it was one of my envisaged scenarios when he asked if he could give me a lift home after dinner.

"Oh Bill, that's so kind of you," I said. "But I live a long subway ride away, near the top of Harlem. Even there, I can barely afford the rent." I didn't want to say that I actually couldn't afford the rent! I may be the working poor, but I do have some pride and self-respect.

"Not a problem. It will be my pleasure. Type your address into my Uber app, okay?" he said.

"How about we just take the subway together? I don't want to waste your money," I said. (Also, I have a friend who drives for Uber, and she's made me hate the company, but there was no need to say that!)

I won. Bill actually endured the 40-minute subway ride, followed by a 15-minute walk, late at night, in Harlem, to my apartment. I was impressed. He was the best dressed man in the subway car, possibly on the entire train, but New York subway trains are ten cars long, and I was in only one of the cars, so who really knows?

My roommate had a tie on the doorknob which meant she and a man were getting busy. I explained the situation to Bill, and he kind of awkwardly stood there, not knowing what to do. For the first time in my life I actually took the initiative and I stood on my tip toes, reached up and pulled down his head, and gave him a big smooch, right square on his lips.

After the kiss, Bill said, "Sally, uh...uh..."

"Want another kiss, Bill?" I asked.

Suddenly Bill remembered he was a man and that my last name is Lush and he reached down, picked me up in the air, and lifted me into the air and kissed me. I did what all us girls do when that happens, and I wrapped my legs around him to save his back, forcing my skirt way high up my thighs. My panties were right up against his belt buckle, and it tickled my pussy. I squirmed a little bit, so that his buckle rubbed my pussy. Nice.

Bill's large and strong hands were placed right on my tiny behind as he held me tightly against him, my boobs pressed into his chest, my pussy enjoying itself against his belt buckle, and my lips up against his.

He pushed my chest away from him, still holding me by the ass and tightly against him, and he pushed my thin sweater up around my neck. I showed him it was okay by giving him another kiss. Then he managed to unhook my bra and free the girls. I was exposed to any passing neighbor there on the landing, but the odds were small anyone would see me, since I lived on the top floor of the walk-up, but still, I felt just a wee bit exposed.

My blouse fell to the floor, followed soon after by my bra, as we continued to kiss. "Shall we go inside your apartment?" he asked.

"If we do, you'll probably see my roommate rutting on the floor with some guy, and she'll hate me forever. That's why the tie is around the doorknob," I said.

"Let's go to my place," he said. It was the moment of truth. I was quite drunk, and one does not think well when drunk, but I was just enough on the ball to know that I had met Bill only earlier that same day, and immediately going to bed with him was not a good idea. It was pretty slutty. I could do it, of course. I've done it before, with other men. I probably would have done it too, if the tie had not been there. I was not about to surrender to him on the landing of my apartment building!

"Not tonight, Bill. We just met, you know," I said.

"Are you free tomorrow?" Bill asked.

"I work," I said.

"I meant in the evening," Bill repeated. "Dinner?"

"Let's do Italian tomorrow, okay?" I said. The smile on Bill's face was a smile of wonder. Who knew that me agreeing to go to dinner could make a grown man so happy? I knew of course, however, that it was the implied promise of some bedroom activities after dinner at his place that begat the smile from heaven.

Bill gingerly put me back on my feet, now topless. We kissed some more and he pulled out his cell phone. "How can I reach you?" he asked.

I explained. Bill asked permission to snap a photo of me topless. "I'll remember to pick you up when your work ends tomorrow that way," he said. Being drunk, I foolishly (correct that: very foolishly!) nodded my assent and gave my best smile to his cell phone camera.

I jiggled my shoulders with the intended consequence that my generous boobs bobbed around to entice him, just in case he wanted a short video as well. Bill bent over and kissed my nipples, gently sucking on them a little. I felt tinges between my legs. Then he left.

Aroused and floating on a small cloud I entered my apartment still topless and carrying my doggy bag to find my roommate naked, sprawled on the floor and her equally naked lover next to her, both of them fast asleep. (We have a roommate agreement of no sex in the Murphy bed that we share.) I couldn't resist and quickly checked out the guy's jewels. Not bad, I thought, and I wondered what Bill's were like.

I was exhausted from a full work day and then a long evening, plus all the booze, but I still had the presence of mind to wash down an Ambien with the trace of red wine left in an open bottle. If I go to sleep drunk I sleep poorly, but with an Ambien I knew I'd be out like a light, and sleep through the night. Not thinking, though, I stripped off the rest of my clothes and donned a short T shirt over my naked body, my usual sleepwear. I had forgotten already about the naked man asleep on the floor.

I opened the Murphy bed my roommate Miriam and I share, climbed in, and promptly fell asleep. I awoke the next day in the arms of Miriam's lover du jour, with Miriam spooning him from the other side. I felt his hard cock between my ass cheeks, and I gingerly arose without waking him, thank goodness, and immediately ran to the bathroom for my morning rituals and to get properly dressed before Miriam's lover awoke and saw me.

What I saw in the toilet alarmed me. I tried to remember in my morning-after haze. The alcohol the night before had really thrown me for a loop! Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit! Had I really submissively let this guy, Miriam's lover du jour, fuck my drunken body last night? Could that really have happened? I had no memory of anything but sleep.

In the toilet was a mixture of pee and a small amount of a discharge which was surely a man's seminal fluid that Miriam's lover du jour had apparently generously donated to my vaginal canal during the night. I guessed this was the second Ambien fuck of my short life.

I had done this once before, taken an Ambien, and then fucked a guy in my sleep, having no memory of it the next day. That time I had actually left my dorm room in college, crossed the hall, stripped naked, and climbed into bed with a guy I kind of liked. It was a bit of a comedy when I woke in his arms and had to ask him what had happened! Given that history, I felt like an idiot having taken an Ambien while Miriam had a lover there! Why hadn't she sent him home? Damn it all!

Now dressed, I went over and gently shook lover boy awake. Seeing me, watching his eyes slowly focus, he said, "Good morning, lover. My God, you are one fine lay! By the way, I'm Phil, not Bill."

Misunderstanding my facial expression, lover boy added, "You screamed out Bill when you came. You have amazing orgasms, Sally. You're Sally, right? You almost woke Miriam, but I guess she's a sound sleeper."

Okay, now I knew what happened. I had only one question. "Good morning, Phil. I was drunk last night and my memory's foggy. Did I come on to you, or did you seduce me?"

"Oh, Sally, you came on to me. You wanted it bad, too. You kept telling me harder, stronger, faster, deeper. You kept calling me Bill. I understand: Phil, Bill, does it really matter? You squirted, too. The bed's a bit of a mess, I'm afraid," Phil said. "My little sister called me Bill when she was small. She couldn't pronounce the "Ph" diphthong, you know? It's no problem. But just to be clear, I'm Phil, not Bill."

"I don't squirt. It must have been Miriam," I said.

"No, there's no question it was you. You were on top, fucking me as if your life depended on it, and when you came you yelled out my name, that is, you yelled out Bill, thinking it was my name, I guess. Then you squirted. God, Sally, you're sexy. You can call me Bill or whatever you want if you want to do it again? I'm hard right now, lover," he said.

"Miriam loves wake-up sex, Phil," I lied. "I've got to run to work." I went to the kitchen, grabbing the doggie bag from last night, took a roll out and ate it along with my instant coffee in a to-go cup I had lifted from a Starbucks somewhere. I hurried off to the subway. I had put on extra perfume to hide the possible smell of sex on the subway. Of course, my perfume was cheap CVS "perfume," so I smelled like a cheap drugstore and not like Chanel, but hey, it was something, right?

I had some heavy thinking to do, once I finished the de rigueur obligatory self-recriminations. I was being so hard on myself I thought the Marquis de Sade would appear at any moment to take me home with him, cut me into pieces, and feed me to the fish, and I'd have orgasms while he did it all.

Work kept me busy enough to make me forget about the recriminations and to concentrate on the meaning, if any, of the Ambien sex last night. Lord knows I had been horny! I had gone without sex for six months before last night, and I don't even remember any of the sex with Phil!

Maybe it was a good thing? Maybe I would not be so horny on my date with Bill (not Phil!) that very night? Nope. As far as my mind was concerned, I was just as sexually deprived (even if a little less depraved, I chuckled to myself) than before last night. I was still a horny little devil. Maybe my name was Lush for a reason?

I was glad Phil thought I was good in bed, even if it was a Murphy bed. I was proud of my sexual talents. I wasn't a legend in high school for no reason. In college I was more mature, and slightly more subdued, and I was a little harder to get into bed than in high school. N ow it's harder still to seduce me, but I suppose it's still not too hard, truth be told. A little precision: in high school it was more getting me in the back seats of cars than in bed. I used my lack of height to advantage, hee, hee.

Boys called me the Slut Sally behind my back. I was powerless to stop them. Of course, my last name being Lush, you can imagine what a good time the high school boys had with that! A slut named Lush? I guess I actually was a slut in some sense. Going to bed, or better, going to a car's back seat, with seven different boys my senior year is probably pretty slutty, I suppose.

I remember the time the son of our family dentist dated me and laid me in the back of his parents' Chrysler Town & Country minivan. The dentist had pictures of Koala bears on the ceiling that I enjoyed whenever I was on my back in the dentist's chair. Then there I was, on my back in his father's minivan, and there were no Koala bears on the ceiling. I felt cheated as the dentist's son plowed away at my pussy and I groaned up a storm.

I actually thought about seducing his father so that I could get laid in the dentist chair and watch Koala bears as his dad fucked me. That seemed too complicated to pull off, though. Maybe though I could do it there with his son? When I told the son I wanted to do it in his father's dentist chair, however, he freaked out, decided I was a pervert, and we broke up. Teenage boys can be so weird!

I kind of had a plan when I was standing in the cold outside of work waiting for Bill. I had brought my one seductive dress with me and had changed at work, so I looked as good as I was going to look! I told Gail at work that I had a hot date, and I asked her advice: bra, or no bra? My boobs are big, but they are firm.

"Do you need to seduce him? Or is he a sure thing?" Gail asked.