The Mending of Broken Hearts

She could feel the eyes of everyone on her and her skimpy attire and before she thought about what she was doing (and to the astonishment of her sister, whose grin went suddenly wicked), she downed a second tasty jello shot. They moved past the table and further into the house, and Andrea marveled again at how many people there were, as well as the spark of sudden adventurousness she was feeling.

And yet despite the massive crowd it did not take long for Audrey to find the group of her friends, two of whom were female and one of whom was male.

"Andrea, this is Holli and Michelle," her sister said, indicating the two women. Holli was a tall and gorgeous chestnut-haired woman and Michelle was a shorter kind of beach-bunny, surfer-girl chick with bleached blonde hair and a deep tan. Both wore very pleasant smiles in addition to their costumes, which were of the cheerleader variety and made sense with what Andrea and Audrey were wearing. There had obviously been some coordination involved.

The woman named Holli extended her hand. "Nice to meet you, Andrea," she said in a sweet voice. "Audrey's told us so much about you."

"Hi," the other girl chirped.

"I'm Adam," the young man with them announced. He was also dressed in a football uniform that (not surprisingly) matched with hers fairly well. He glanced at her outfit and chuckled. "I'm sure there is some crude remark I could make about our costumes, something about which one of us is playing tight end or maybe something about me getting under center, but I'm too much of a gentleman for that. You don't happen to think we've been setup tonight, do you?"

The thought had not even occurred to Andrea before that moment, but now that she considered it she knew it was absolutely true. This whole thing had been concocted by the three other women to get her and this strange man (who, truth be told, was very cute and very nice, and funny) in the same room at the same party together.

"Yes," she said with a pointed look at her sister. "I believe we have."

Audrey shrugged. "The good thing about that helmet, Andi," she said, "is that I don't have to see you glaring at me. I'm gonna get myself a drink."

The man named Adam had a very patient and apologetic look. "I had no idea this was being planned, honestly," he told her in a quiet voice. "You don't have to be embarrassed, though, because I still have no idea what you look like."

Andrea giggled. "True," she replied, but she did not remove her helmet.

He sighed. "I don't know what they were trying to accomplish in any event. They knew I couldn't stay for very long. They mean well, though, I suppose."

"Yes," she agreed, "although if they tricked you in to this, too, you're probably in much the same boat I'm in, which means you're not looking for anything serious right now."

The man considered her words a long moment. Andrea felt she was very good at reading people and figured she had hit the nail right on the head. "You could say that," he said finally, and he laughed a little as he did so. Then he changed the subject. "Would you like a drink?"

Andrea nodded and answered, "Yes, thank you. Surprise me."

Adam laughed again. "Feeling bold, eh? Gonna go out and party hard and show those girls you're single and loving it?"

She giggled. "Something like that," she replied, but the man was completely right.

She was going to live it up and enjoy herself, she decided, and to hell with the consequences. It was time to cleanse herself of the lingering gloom, time to move on with her life, time to start living again.

And when he returned moments later with some kind of a vodka concoction and told her he was leaving, she thanked him for the brief but meaningful conversation and wished him well in a general kind of way, and when he was gone she downed her drink, grabbed another and turned to face the room, ready for some excitement.

* * *

He looked ridiculous.

"I look ridiculous," Mike Gregory said as he turned to examine himself in the full-length mirror. There was no one else in the room, however, which meant he was talking to himself, which was also ridiculous in and of itself, and he sighed.

He was not particularly stoked about his costume for the evening, although his costume did little to quell his excitement at the prospect of going out with his friends and having a good time.

It was one of the biggest party nights of the year (the Saturday before Halloween) and he and his friends were hitting up a pretty big house party. He was unsure of the specifics, which was fine; he was looking to go out and get drunk, and did not want to worry about logistics.

"Nice outfit," a voice said from the doorway behind him. Terrance Hawk was a good-looking young man of twenty-four with shaggy sandy-blonde hair and blue eyes. He was a surf-culture kind of guy and also one of Mike's good friends from the soccer world.

"Wow," Mike said with a grin as he studied his friend's costume: Terry was garbed as the comic book character Green Lantern. "I stand corrected: you look ridiculous. A great kind of ridiculous, though. I just look bad."

It was unknown exactly who had come up with the brilliant idea for the five of them to dress up as famous superheroes, just as it was unknown exactly how it had been settled that that was actually what they were going to do. While the concept was intriguing, Mike thought, the execution was less-than-stellar . . . and he had the ridiculous costume to prove it.

Their party of five included: Dwayne Wimbley, 24, one of the few African-American soccer players Mike had ever met and one of the best individual athletic talents he had ever seen, who was dressed in the blue and red tights and cape of Superman; Jerome Wimbley, 22, the little brother of Dwayne, a former football player who used his significant muscular size to dress in the purple pants and green body paint of the Incredible Hulk; Todd Coulter, also 24, a short and stocky dark-haired guy who was decked out as the Flash; plus Terry as Green Lantern and Mike himself, who had drawn the unfortunate lot of dressing up as the comic book character Spiderman, which meant he was wearing skin-tight red and blue spandex with webbing on the front and a mask that covered his entire head.

That was the one redeeming feature of his outfit: the mask so completely covered his face that no one would know who he was, and one of his caveats for accepting the role was that his friends could not tell anyone it was actually him.

And so Mike would go to the party and drink heavily and talk to random strangers, and not really care about what they thought because they could not see him. His friends were excited he was getting back in the saddle again, too, and from the start they did a good job of pointing out all the incredibly attractive women in skimpy slutty attire, while also keeping constant pressure on him to approach and talk to said incredibly attractive women in skimpy slutty attire.

"Ripe for the taking, my friends," said Terry as they arrived at the house, which was big and expensive-looking and crawling with people. Mike wondered how long it would last before it got busted up by the cops.

Terry was apparently old friends with the guy who was throwing the party, so their little quintet bypassed the front door and entered via the side gate, which was not nearly as crowded. Inside, they found more of the same, and Mike immediately began noting the various female costumes.

Several inspired choices drew his eye, most prominently a group of beautiful women decked out as the sluttiest group of Pink Ladies he had ever seen. Mike was sure the rating for the movie Grease would have been far worse had the Pink Ladies in the movie looked and dressed like that. There was also a harem girl in a see-through veil body-suit, which was exceptional, a slutty nurse, a slutty delivery girl, a couple of slutty superhero chicks (which would make his friends' pick-up attempts easier, he figured) and a very busty Lara Croft look-a-like, to name a few others.

And those were the ones he saw in just the first few minutes: abundant cleavage and lots of flesh.

They procured some cocktails and took up position standing by the pool, surveying the scene. Dwayne and Jerome, ever suave and confident, went off in search of new conquests as Mike and Todd and Terry contented themselves for the moment with inactivity.

"I'm not looking for much tonight," said Todd as he gulped down half of his rum-infused drink. "I've been hitting it too hard lately."

Terry rolled his eyes. "You're taking it easy?" he asked. "I'll believe that when I see it."

Mike laughed. "Don't look now," he said in a low voice with a light nod in the direction Todd was facing away from.

There was a beautiful woman approaching, her large breasts jiggling as she walked. It was easy to see her large breasts jiggling because she was dressed as a beauty pageant contestant from the swimwear portion of the contest, which meant she was wearing a skimpy floss bikini with a sash that read California and ran over her shoulder and down the middle of her body. She was a light-skinned African American girl with vivid brown eyes and shimmery shoulder-length brown hair, and she was gorgeous.

Todd turned and nearly choked on his drink when he saw her. "Vanessa?" he said incredulously.

The girl smiled devilishly. "Aren't you strapping?" she said. "Hi, Todd. It's been awhile."

Todd's eyes were wide. Mike had not had too much experience with the guy, but it seemed very out-of-character for him to be acting the way he was acting.

"Two years," the man said. "Are you . . . are you back?"

She smiled sadly and shook her head. "No," she told him, "just passing through. I've got a week-long shoot starting next week. I was hoping I'd run into you. I just didn't know it would happen this soon. I've only been in town since this morning."

Todd was about to speak again when he remembered they were not alone. He looked over at Terry and Mike and grinned sheepishly. "You guys mind if I bail?" he asked, then turned to face the woman. "Vanessa and I go way back and we . . . have some unfinished business to discuss."

Terry answered, "No sweat, dude."

Mike said, "Go right ahead."

Which is how the two found themselves together and alone and still standing by the pool, which made the plan of dressing up as superheroes seem that much more ridiculous.

Terry turned to him. "I have a recommendation for you, Mike," he said. "Get crazy tonight. Have some alcohol and get blitzed, and get crazy. No one knows who you are, you're wearing a mask and there are more females here than I would have ever thought possible. You can't throw a stick in any direction without hitting someone hot."

Mike grinned. "My friend," he admitted, "in case you haven't noticed, I had three shots and two drinks before we left the apartment and now I'm sucking down this horrible jungle juice we got from the cooler. I plan on drinking as heavily as I can and at some point making a complete fool of myself. Like you said, no one knows who I am, so who cares, right?"

The grin on his friend's face was positively devilish. "Fantastic," he exclaimed. "We're doing shots." There was one thing about Terry: when he wanted something, he got it. He was relentless.

Which is why some thirty minutes later, Mike found himself in the center of a large hardwood floor room just inside the house that was currently being used as the dance area. It was dimly lit and the music was so loud he could hardly hear himself think, and there was a disco ball swirling around somewhere that sent shards of light flying in all directions, and Mike was deeply buzzed and dancing around like an absolute idiot, which was something (dancing) he never did, but he did not really gave a shit this particular time because this particular time no one had any idea who he was. He was just "that fucked up Spiderman guy" people were talking about, but they had no idea who he was and he had no idea who they were in any case, and so did not care.

And then, amazingly, he was not alone.

There was another person dancing with him: a woman, although the only way he knew that was from the look of her body. She was dressed in some sort of modified football get-up complete with a tinted helmet that obscured her face, shoulder pads, black spandex and a cut-off that showed enticing amounts of her midriff and the undersides of her breasts. It was an incredible outfit and Mike was immediately struck by how fantastic the woman's body appeared to be.

And she was a good dancer, grinding right up on him, plastering herself against him, matching him beat-for-beat as he moved. They were quite the pair, Mike and his mystery woman, and he noticed other people watching them freak each other. It was intense and erotic and exciting and awesome, and Mike was loving it, and so they danced for what seemed like hours before both seemed to reach their limit at the same time.

"Drink?" Mike yelled over the roar of the speakers.

The woman nodded.

And so they made their way to the bar, where they proceeded to each take back-to-back vodka shots, Mike through the mouth slit in his mask while the woman managed to down hers without removing her helmet.

"What's your name?" Mike asked suddenly after the second shot, leaning in close.

The football helmet shook from side-to-side and the muffled voice replied, "No names."

Mike grinned. He had no idea if the woman's face was attractive, but at the moment he did not really care. Her body was smoking hot and she was quite obviously liquored and looking for a good time, and that was just what his doctor ordered.

"No names," he repeated as he leaned close, and then he added in a whisper, "No regrets."

And he took her hand and led her back to the dance floor.

* * *

It was a ridiculous outfit, but it turned her on something fierce. It was form-fitting, which meant she could easily make out every muscular curve of his body, including the one between his legs, which pulsed whenever she grinded against it. But the best part was the mask covering the whole of his face, which meant she had no idea who he actually was.

Which was exactly how she wanted it.

She had been watching him for some time, tracking his movements to see what he would do, and when he downed his first drink and took two straight shots at the bar, she knew she wanted to party with him and him alone.

Which is why she went right for him when he hit the dance floor, not chancing that another hussy would get to him first, which then led her to decide something as she bumped and grinded him and felt the strength of his body with her hands along his broad shoulders and back, something she would not have expected to decide in a million years. She was horny and hungry, and wanted to fuck someone, but she did not want any of the baggage that went along with it. Her outfit afforded her that opportunity and she was going to take it, she was going to do something completely crazy and totally out of character, and she was going to love it.

And so when he pulled her back onto the dance floor for the second time, she waited a few minutes to let the alcohol of the shots they had just taken settle within her before she pulled him in close and shouted in his ear, loud enough for him to hear what she said over the roar of the music and through the obstructing helmet, and she said, "I want to fuck you."

And without missing a beat, as if he'd been waiting for her to say exactly that for some time, the man pulled her in tighter and tilted her head back, and brought his lips to her neck just below where the helmet ended, and in a voice husky with need he answered, "Let's go."

And Andrea Tinsley felt the warmth and wetness come fast and furious between her legs.

* * *

He very nearly came right there on the dance floor when the mystery woman said she wanted to fuck him, and yet for some strange reason he had known it was coming. There was blatant chemistry between the two of them, an unambiguous connection, some weird kind of unstated understanding, and he knew intrinsically they were both looking for the same thing.

And so he led her from the dance floor and into the house, looking for the first secluded room he could find, hoping it would work well enough for them. She was right behind him, her hands touching his back, her body close to his own as they moved through the rooms in search of their illicit rendezvous locale.

And then they opened a door and descended four steps to find another door that took them into a darkened room, far removed from the music and the masses, and he stopped in the darkness and she pressed up against him from behind, her hand slipping around his waist to cup and squeeze the lump in his crotch, and he knew then and there one thing: he could wait no more.

He spun around and took hold of her, and the gasp he heard was more excitement than surprise, and spurred him onward. He pushed her back step-by-step, searching for resistance, searching for the wall, but instead found something waist-high that bent her backward. He realized almost instantly what it was despite not being able to see much of anything: a washing machine.

He leaned over her, knowing this room was the best they could hope for, trapping her beneath him, his cock swelling more every moment and pressing into her just above her hip. He brought her wrists together and held them both in his left hand, pushing them back above her head and pinning them there, and brought his other hand to her neck just below the helmet.

She gasped again and struggled just a bit, but he held her firmly in place and she softened, and his fingers slid down her slender neck and then further over the material of her cut-off. It was begging to be torn, begging to be ripped from this strumpet's body like the flimsiest cloth, but instead he shoved the shirt north to expose the big and beautiful breasts beneath.

She stiffened as his fingers trailed down her sternum between the pale pear-shaped mounds. Never before had she felt so controlled, never before had a man felt so powerful and never before had she felt such fire in the pit of her soul. She was panting, chest heaving as he touched her and melted her completely.

As one hand held her hands above her head, his other hand cupped the soft fullness of her right breast in his palm, kneading the pliant flesh. His head dipped and his lips pressed into her skin just above the nipple, and shivers of pleasure spread from that spot in waves. His tongue flicked out and traced around her hard crest, teasing the flesh and tip before surrounding it completely with his lips.

She whimpered with need as his warm breath washed over her breast and shrieked and groaned when he nibbled softly on her nipple. Her hips pushed up into his, grinding into his pelvis, and in that moment one of her hands came free and wrapped instantly around his back. He bit and suckled her nipple and she whimpered again as his intensity increased, and pounded against his back with her little fist, her head thrashing from side to side as he traced his tongue repeatedly over her swollen breast, leaving a thin trail of wetness on her smooth skin.

And then he broke away suddenly, pushing himself off to stand before her, chest heaving as he drew ragged gasps. The view was incredible: her full breasts jiggled gently as she breathed, the shirt bunched above them, her skin trembling with need. The woman's body was luscious and desire flared fresh within him.

But his control had always been excellent and once more he bested his desire for one single reason: this was getting very close to going the distance and Mike Gregory, long considering himself a gentleman, wanted to give his mystery woman one last moment of pause before the climax, one last chance to change her mind.