Sensual Bachata NYC

They got off the 6 train on 28th street in the Flatiron District. The vibe in the street was casually moving people towards the destination of their errands. Picturesque street restaurants were barely occupied at the non-lunch time. The few people there were in utter leisure time, sipping on a glass while gazing into the distance. The big trees that reached across the street provided cool shade and lent a cheery green to the atmosphere. Gaston walked through a gate made of black, ornamental castiron, up the stairs that were lined by two white lion stone statues, and through an exquisitely cleaned glass door.

The office that welcomed them was very spiffy and edgy. Everything was clean, new, and perfect. A big sculpture that was part cube, part pyramid, and part round hung on the side of the room. It was massive. The colors were unusual. They were actually made of hash marks for multiple colors. Simply watching the constitute colors and the resulting appearance of aggregate color was mesmerizing and intriguing. The receptionist stood next to a glass desk top that was suspended from near invisible nylon strings in the ceiling. It seemed like the glass plate was hovering in the air. It left her entire body that was standing visible. Everything was tugged in and perfect. She wore a gray felt pencil skirt that looked on her like it was photoshopped in reality. Her hair was a mix of blond and brunette strands that were completely smooth and symmetrically arranged on her head in a spiral. Her glasses looked on her face like they were museum pieces. They transformed her face form whatever it was without them into something totally different. The large glasses and heavy frames with the square but rounded shape gave her so much refinement and spoke of being in a science fiction movie, in a library, and in a psychologist's office at the same time.

Displaying her high-touch expertise, she told Gaston, "Follow me, Mr. Purdue. The committee is ready to hear your proposal. Please, sign this NDA form before the meeting starts. I'll get a second form for your associate." She handed Gaston the clipboard and walked ahead of him into the building and to a conference room on the right. From a closet, she got another clipboard with pen and paper for Lionel to sign.

"What is an NDA?" asked Lionel quietly.

"Shut up and sign it!" hissed Gaston back.

The room had an oblong conference room with a video screen that covered the entire far wall. Equally sharp-dressed people as the receptionist sat at the table. On the wall behind each person was a surfboard. The surfboards were utterly squeaky clean and decorated high art quality markings. It was like each surfboard had a personality and was one of a kind. At the head of the table sat a man in a pinstriped suit with a red tie that was so fat that it seemed more like a pillow. The red was so intensely red and bright that it drew attention no matter where someone looked in the room. And out of touch with the suit, he was wearing a leather cap, kind of like a monk would if a monk would wear a biker hat.

"Let's get to it, gentleman," said the lead man. "You have ten minutes. It's either a yes or a no."

Gaston seemed really nervous when he was on his hands and knees fumbling with the USB-C cable to plug his phone into the big screen. A seated woman uncomfortably refoled her knees because she was wearing a skirt and he was on the floor in front of her. By the time, he got his presentation up, a whole minute had passed already.

"Fuck," hissed Gaston when he realized that he had only nine minutes left. He realized hat he had to go for it. "We record ambient sound and do voice analysis to extract information from random people in the street. Then we summarize it up to extract brand sentiments across the aggregate population of say SoHo."

"Hold," said the lead man with his hand up in a stop signal. "Everyone who is not approved to listen in on our guerrilla campaigns, leave the room now."

There was a shuffling of feet. Only three people remained, the lead man, the woman with the skirt, and some kid that had too long hair, too tight pants, and poorly buttoned shirt (the bottom of his untugged shirt showed that the buttons weren't aligned.) Another minute had been lost.

"Proceed," said the lead man with coldness and pure function.

"Basically, my man Lionel here is going to stand next to some hot girls in Soho. The phone is going to eavesdrop on their conversation. And the app spits out the names of the hottest brands currently," explained Gaston.

"Talk to me about sample size and noise to signal ratio," said the lead man, like he was intimately familiar with the field that Gaston only stammered about.

"Well, we are at the prototype stage. I'm looking for very basic funding and a partner to vet the results of our first trial," said Gaston. It was very clear that Gaston had no hope of this meeting going anywhere and no clue what to realistically ask for. Three minutes were left.

"Show me the source code," said the lead man.

Gaston threw himself on his knees to reach for the phone resting on the white, fluffy polar bear fur carpet. The woman with the skirt uncomfortably grimaced and re-crossed her legs. Colorful source code on a black background came up. Gaston slowly scrolled down.

"C'mon, scroll faster. I'm not a first-year CS student!" barked the lead man.

Gaston sped up the scrolling. The lead man called out, "line 15 has a bug." Like stung, Gaston squeaked out, "shit!" "Line 34," continued the lead man. "God damn it!" growled Gaston in utter self-flagellation. By the third line number called out, Gaston showed he was ready to pack up and give up.

"I like what I see," said the lead man. "I want you to do a test run today. Robert will review your results. There is a particular restaurant on Prince Street, the 'Rue de la Salle' that I want you to record ambient sound from. Our social media monitoring bots have detected a lot of new mega posts originating from there. We want to know what the people there talk about before they post about it. We have a number of large consumer brand clients that highly desire to understand the trends developing among those influencers."

"I'll offer you $1,000 for five hours of analyzed ambient audio. Robert will be your contact and evaluate the results. If we like your insight report, we can talk about a more solid engagement. Do we have a deal?" said the lead man.

"Fuck yeah!" cried Gaston out. "I mean, that sounds great, sir. And yes!"

The disheveled guy in the room got up. He silently walked to a closet. He opened it. He punched a combination into a safe. He took a bundle of money out, put it into an envelope, and handed it to Gaston. There was a coldness, a precision, and a ordinarity that was bewildering to the two lads who had landed a huge deal.

Robert walked silently ahead of the two lads. He walked them straight out of the door. Lionel took a look back at the high design of the office and the lonely receptionist that had to stand the entire day there in full and clear view. After the building door shut behind them, Robert got a vaporizer out and sucked on it right away, blowing white smoke into the air. His demeanor turned completely relaxed like they were buddies.

"Guys, you know that if you can produce marketing research insights as good as you describe, the old man is going to put his magic touch of words on the report, and will sell it for $100K. The marketing departments at the big consumer brand companies are entirely clueless about young people. They are so thirsty for insights, it's crazy. You guys need to learn to ask for what you are worth," Robert turned on his heels and went back inside.

Gaston turned to Lionel. "Look I know that you heard some big numbers, but I'm only going to pay you $100 for your work today. I've spent three weeks working on the app. So you getting the $100 of the $1K is more than your fair share," explained Gaston.

Lionel realizing that he would make nothing at all if he didn't take the deal replied, "Of course, totally fair!"

"It's just capitalism," excused Gaston.

They walked down beautifully calm and picturesque streets under the tree canopy. The buildings were pretty. Man of the residences had stoops with beautifully crafted railings. Pretty people in their mid-thirties whisked down the street. They were dressed up in designer clothing and had bright optimism on their faces. Gaston wanted to take Lionel the scenic way down to Soho so that Gaston could see some of the beauty of New York City. They stopped at the green market on Union Square to buy a farm-fresh apple as a snack.

Crossing Broadway in Noho, Gaston found a discarded warm back of a pizza delivery person. He picked it up. He looked at the dare and the dust and approvingly said, "This is perfect." He stopped himself from dusting it off. He carried the box. Lionel was happy not to think of it until they arrived at the restaurant "La Rue de la Salle" in Soho. It had a beautiful, black cast iron fence on the sidewalk for outdoor seating. The entire wall of the restaurant was removable so that even the indoor seats had the airy feeling of being connected to the outdoors. The food, plates, and utensils looked French and very expensive.

"The delivery box will make you look like a delivery person. Most people look down on them. They'll totally ignore you. When you see trendy girls move closer. Always keep my phone in your pocket. Don't let people see you. Remember, I didn't finish the dual voice analysis. So you have to be close to people. Simply stand there, look into the street, and wait. I'll be back in five hours." Gaston gave Lionel a slap on the shoulder and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of fashion models and Chinese tourists shopping for high-end fashion brands.

Lionel felt awkward standing in the street. But really nobody paid him any attention. People ran past him. The diners were dining. He felt like he could have been a clown or an antelope and people wouldn't care. His knees started aching from standing. He started shifting. A group of six women around thirty came into the restaurant. They were wearing fancy sunglasses. Their clothes had delicate design patterns. They definitely weren't wearing the clothing that Lionel saw at the Gap or Urban Outfitters. Their hair and nails were done up in ways that really stood out. They exuded an attitude like they were an elect certain. The maitre walked them right to the table at the corner so that they were visible from all sides at the intersection. They seemed to realize that and actually desire it. Lionel moved closer. Lionel seemed like he belonged there with his cheap clothing, the delivery box, and noticeable discomfort waiting but putting up with it.

Sure enough, they started dropping brand names that Lionel had never heard about. They seemed obsessed with it. Lionel started zoning out until their topic turned to boyfriends. Hearing these high-status women spill their deepest thoughts about men had his attention.

"My boyfriend pays me seven thousand for a weekend," stated the tall woman with the white, long brimmed hat and dark, large sunglasses. She looked dangerous to Lionel. She looked educated, attractive, and fully aware of both powers. Lionel wouldn't be able to hold a conversation with her. That intimidated him.

"Isn't that prostitution," protested the blond-haired, chubby Asian one.

"You gotta have a sugar daddy or two to afford this city. I do," explained the long-legged Brazilian beauty with the 18th-century style corset worn as a top. So many ribbons and connectors were all over the corset, some for function and some for decoration.

"I hate it when they show the money," added the Japanese girl. She was wearing the most plain outfit of them all. It looked like simple a long dress with solid colors. However, the fabric held its shape and moved with her body at the same time. It was miraculous how it adjusted to her body movements, yet also kept the intended shape of the dress. It must have been very expensive. And the black and white color on her dress, it had a magnificent quality. There was absolutely no shine or reflection to it. It was like the shadow and sunlight as well as random reflection from cars didn't affect the color. While the dress appeared completely plain, it had very subtle changes to the shape around the shoulder, the way how the cord around her belly was that clearly evoked the allusion to a samurai kimono.

Dressed from a snuck neck collar all the way down to her ankles (where she had wooden block shoes), she appeared the most conservative. Yet, as Lionel stole glances at her, the fabric wasn't solid. It was lots of layers and panels on top of each other. During her movements at random times, the slits would line up so that he got a glimpse down the entire length of her legs. As he stole more glances during their conversation, he noticed that the same mechanism of panels randomly lining up to reveal slits down to her skin was all over her the dress. He got a glimpse of her bare arm skin, her belly, her boobs, even when she moved just right, he could see her bare pubic bone. When one paid attention and she moved, she was constantly randomly flashing body skin even in her most private parts. It was like watching the night sky for falling stars and constantly getting lucky but just a minute glimmer.

"Last week, my guy threw a stack of bills right on the hotel nightstand after we had sex. That was so crass. He wanted to go shower and leave. I spit yelled at him. I threw the money at him. I told him that I'm not some kind of whore that gets paid for sex. When I packed my things up, he got all sorry. He got on his knees and begged me. He was literally holding onto my foot when I was trying to walk down the hallway. He sent me flowers every day to apologize. After three days, I allowed him to ask me out for dinner. When I came back from the restaurant, I found a neat white envelope in my purse. There was an extra ten thousand. I kissed him to let him know that he had done right. I absolutely hate it when they make me feel like a hooker," the Japanese woman was still utterly exasperated only re-telling the story.

A dressed-up gentleman approached their table. He was wearing a round felt hat, black glasses with gold rims, and a delicate pin on his tie. His face was round. Every piece of his clothing felt new and perfectly groomed. There wasn't even a single piece of fuzz on it.

"Dear fine ladies, I have an indecent proposal," he paused to let them respond.

"Fuck off, you pervert!" said the tall woman in the long-brimmed white hat.

"Well, I was going to offer you $500 for your underwear if you hand them over right here," the men responded, not at all perturbed about the rejection or insult. The lifted chin suggested that he knew what he wanted and didn't care about the rest.

"$700," sparked the tall woman back.

"Deal," said the man with a smirk and reached into his pocket to pull out a stack of twenties.

"I must tell you I was a little horny earlier. They are still soaking wet," she added, cool as a cucumber. The Brazilian kicked the Japanese under the table.

"Excellent! That sweetens the deal," the man held the counted wad of money under his hand out of view.

The tall woman reached under her knee-length skirt. She had to reach high. She fumbled for a while. Then she required both hands to roll them down her thighs. She hurriedly lifted them over her knees and down her calves. Catching her composure, she slowed down at her feet and let the skinny, twisted thong straps get caught on her feet and toes. She let the men, who watched with deep pleasure, gaze at her feet and the tong as she played with them. When she handed them over, he discretely balled them up to make them disappear into his hands. Stepping back a bit, he opened his cupped hands like he was holding a delicate flower and stuck his face into his palms to take a deep, angelic inhale of the whiff of her sex. Seeing the happiness on his face and the connoisseur that he appeared to be, one could believe that he had acquired a rare art piece. He bowed to the ladies and walked away.

The Japanese told the tall one, "after you added that line about them being soaking wet, he would have easily paid you two thousand for it!"

In the look of the tall woman, it was clear that she hadn't done it for the money. She had jumped at the low price because she cared more about the admiration of her friends than making money. Lionel got the thought from the little ways how these women talked that what they craved the most was the approval and admiration of their friends. They didn't care about men, money, or anything else. The only thing that mattered to them was the esteem the other women had for them. And that's why they handed out their approval so gingerly. When the Japanese one said what she had said, the tall felt such a surge of approval that her eyes lit up and her posture got more erect even though she was rather dismissive like it was no big deal.

The women went back to talking about fashion and celebrities. Lionel silently reflected that the woman had made in a minute as much as he would make in seven days. He was rubbing his knees. He watched people passing by with lots of shopping bags and cabs crawling threw the cobblestone street. Another three hours passed. He moved closest to the tables that seemed the most promising.

Gaston came right as the sun was setting and painted the Soho walls even more romantic with its orange. Gaston was eager to get the phone. His hands were shaking. With hasty excuses, he wanted to rush off with the phone to fix the bugs in his code and re-run the voice analysis app on the raw sound file. Lionel wanting to dance bachata had the address of Little Paradise written on the palm of his hand.

Walking on his own, he had to find those green balls on top of pillars that signaled the subway entrance. He had to orient himself on a subway map to figure out to take the 3 train uptown. He swiped the metro card to get to the platform. He was in awe of the underground cavern that looked exactly like in the movies. A homeless was sleeping on a bench next to a gargantuan-sized plastic bag full of recyclable bottles. He spotted a couple cuties chatting away with their day packs on their back. He felt a certain confidence in navigating on his own. Also navigating on his own, he moved slower and could take in more to understand the city. He saw the old man near retirement age in hiking boots because they were comfortable for walking and reading a book about bird watching. The old man had found peace in his little cocoon that he lived in within the greater context of the big city. He inspected the construction worker with the construction hat, heavy boots, and big belly, who was sleeping with his head fallen back against the wall after a long day of physical labor.

Lionel had gotten out at Times Square. The instant shoving of people (tourists that didn't know about personal space) made him realize why locals avoided Times Square like the pest. But he had a vague guess on which street to take to make it to Chateau Angelina. With a ring-ding, he pushed the door open to the boutique with stacked boxes. Angelina was there, dolled up in workout gear today. She was wearing super blue spandex shorts and a super blue workout bra. Both were modest in how much they covered for Angelina's standards, but the fabric was so taught that it shaped her body into a tight round ass, a massive thigh gap, and perfectly round boobs. Big letters on the clothing made it appear like rapper couture.

"So you want some pants? Then let me see what I'm working with!" Angelina said and snipped her fingers with her palms facing up. "Don't be shy!"

'Don't be shy' had been a mantra that people constantly repeated to Lionel during his short stay in NYC. So he pulled down his pants, pulled his feet out of his shoes without untying them, and presented himself to Angelina's upraising eyes.