The Misanthrope Seduced

I bent awkwardly to put my lips to her ear, and, without thinking whispered, "I want to push a baby carriage with you, Alice."

She whirled in my arms. For a moment I thought I'd hit a nerve. Her face looked ready to pour out scorn, but with five quick moves she pulled the dress over her head and flung it on the bed.

"You better be serious," she cried, her trim body standing there clad only in a white strapless bra and the tiniest hot red panties. She was so thin. I could see the outline of her ribs, the perfect curl of her clavicle, the points of her hips.

I was overdressed. I pushed off the suitcoat and began to loosen my tie.

"Never more serious," I replied, trying to hold her eyes. I was fumbling with the Oxford shirt. She stepped forward and forcefully thrust her hand into my crotch, cupping my balls and feeling up my stiff erection.

"You're thinking with this," she said. "But that doesn't mean I don't want it in me. You want to rob the cradle and fill it at the same time? Admit it, you want to push my thin youthful body down on this hotel bed. You want to hear me cry 'daddy, daddy' while you push your thick mature cock into me. While you shoot your hot geezer cream into my tight little pussy so you can wake up in some flyover state a week from now and think of my toned belly swelling with your brat. Isn't that it?"

I had my shirts off, so her hand now tugged at my belt. She was going to finish the job.

"I'm thinking up here," I replied, "not down there. And the up here part of me thinks I should be done denying what I want, what I feel in my bones. Admit it: you want to hook me with your seductive young body. You want to steal my seed and cement me to you with my love child. You want to laugh with all your young friends about your old old man."

My pants were around my ankles and my boxers had joined them. Alice knelt and pulled off a shoe and sock. Then the other. She looked up as I teased her with "old old man".

"This isn't some plan I have," she said. "It just is kind of happening. And I don't 'just let things happen' to me in my life. Do you?"

"No." I was naked now. Her hand grasped me by the root, tangling in my pubic hair. Her eyes burned wickedly.

"So," she said, giving me one slow, solid stroke, "this isn't 'just happening'?"

"I want to be here. With you. And if you keep doing that, I'm going to push you back on that bed and do my damnedest to rob your cradle."

She brought her mouth close to my tip and gently blew on it. I could feel the humidity. A twitch passed through my body.

"I'm twenty-six and I have a solid career. I don't need a man to validate me or be my daddy. But I want a man, want to feel his weight on me. Until yesterday I didn't know it, but I wanted to feel his cum inside me. Maybe feel his baby inside me. But definitely, I want to wake up next to him, not a thousand miles apart." She tugged me steadily to the beat of her voice.

"Do you know what you want?" she asked again.

"I haven't thought about babies for a long time, but waking up next to you would be a revelation. Do you want to talk about it now?"

"No. I want you to stop fucking around and fuck me," she said. She gathered herself and climbed up onto thick polyester bedspread.

I peered down at her. This was the moment. I needed to decide if I were going to go through with this. I had taken a risk before, taken a series of them, if you thought about it, with her since yesterday. But this was a commitment. Or maybe it was a delusion--the dirty maneuverings of a temptress. Could I trust her? Even if I could, did I want to flip over my comfortable life for her? In short, could I go back to being satisfied with my life or should I risk heartbreak?

She reached behind her back and unclasped the bra, its sterling whiteness relaxing to expose dark, pointy nipples jutting with purpose. Her eyes looked deeply into mine. I could read the mirror of my internal conflict there. I knelt on the edge of the bed, between her thighs.

The bra slithered off the bed and crumpled to the floor as I stepped forward. Her feet were parted, and I was between them, still looking down at her.

She crab-walked back in the bed, making room for me. I leaned forward, taking my weight on my arms. Now I could look up to see her legs splayed wide, the tiny red panties taunting me. Her eyes still glinted at me, daring me or perhaps fearing the result.

I kissed a bony ankle, the inside of her lower leg, a knobby knee. She put one hand in my hair as my next kiss touched at her inner thigh. My lips touched higher. I could scent her arousal, feel the press of her other thigh to the side of my head. The smooth bump of her crimson panties fell under my lips. I mouthed the slight bulge gently. The hand in my hair flexed.

I reached up and hooked my index finger under the weak elastic of her leg opening. I could feel the stiff black bush of hair and the slight tinge of stubble where she'd trimmed. My finger tugged at the narrow gusset band, urging it down, loose, and then to one side.

I blew a steady stream of warm air across the narrow band of guarding flesh, there merest hint of pink behind deep brown lips. She parted her knees further as my mouth moved in. I let my tongue dart out to steal a single droplet of her precious nectar. Slightly sour and yeasty, yet sweet and slick at the same time. I buried my face and commenced to eat her out.

Long licks. Slow licks. Fast licks. Wet licks. Her fingers danced a minuet in my hair as she panted and began to writhe beneath my ministrations. I touched a finger to her opening and felt her juices, thin and watery. Somehow I knew, by scent and by feel and by sound, that she was supremely fertile. I swirled my tongue upon that most sensitive nibble of flesh peeking at me from her pink folds, poking her with the finger to signal my desire to enter her more fully. I didn't flag in my efforts, establishing a firmer, more emphatic rhythm. I wanted to bring her off, hear her sharp intakes of breath collapse into uncontained screams.

I felt her tensing, her hand trying to decide between pressing me in harder and pushing me away. Faster. Faster. She quivered and then barked a single explosive grunt. A fat hot gulp of squirt bathed my tongue and poured into the bedspread. The hand held me away, but my kiss surged upwards. I crawled up her body, avoiding the distractions of breasts hardened in release, to look down into her eyes.

That hand of hers groped between us and found a handle to grab ahold of. If I had drooped somewhat in self-neglect, her touch put that to rights.

She was shaking her head. I bent to kiss her lips, my face soaked with her emanations. Alice coyly bent away for a moment, then met me with a fierce, hungry mouth.

"You going to break our lives?" I nodded.

Moving up, I touched her again between her thighs. Her hand held the panties aside and flexed me, just so. We wrestled with each other, working separately, working in harmony until I felt her walls begin to part.

We were joined.

Within me some animal boiled to the surface. Our bodies moved in a rich rippling rumpus, quick jolts of me, slamming into her depths. How long I cannot tell, but too soon the tightening, the taut swelling, the holding back so that, when it broke my climax washed out everything except the sensation of her holding and coaxing me onwards.

She spent the night and there was little enough sleep before, in the morning, I had to get dressed and head off to meet my clients--and she to do her "walk of shame", back to her apartment and then to work.

Monday was, after that, somehow pedestrian and weird. The world should be different, changed. But I told the same old jokes, did the same routines, made the same reassurances.

Alice didn't text me. She didn't call me. The end of the day and we went for cocktails with the client. I paused a moment before going into the bar and pulled up her number. I typed "thinking of you" and added a heart emoji. Then deleted the emoji. I stared at it. My heart was doing flip-flops. I added a kissy-face emoji. I pushed send.

My phone buzzed maybe twenty minutes later. I pulled it out with the "concerned businessman" look. Not Alice. It was another client.

I reached my room late. No Alice. I texted her, just a heart this time.

The next day, more silence. I tried to be cool, not bombard her phone with plaintive calls. My mind was completely elsewhere than work.

She texted me back around seven. "Thinking of you too" it said.

"Yay," I texted. Now what?

"Missing you" I sent.

My phone rang. Alice. I answered it.

"Hey," she started, quietly.

"Hey," I replied. My heart was in my throat, fibrillating with anxiety.

"I... uh... I'm kind of direct. Kind of, not, like, uh..."

"You're no shrinking violet. What you see is..."

"... what you get. Yeah. Like that. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is: I liked what we did, but I don't think it can really be anything."

"Why not? Look, I can be direct too, when I need to be. And I don't know what you slipped in my tea, but you make me feel..." I blew out my breath.

"Stupid," she offered.

"Stupid?"

"Yeah. This love thing makes us stupid. Look at me mooning over some old guy who lives in another state. Thinking about pushing his baby's stroller."

"Yes, or me being a mooncalf for some young gal. Thinking I should cancel all my travel plans so I can hang out under your window until you notice me."

"Can't have that. The lawn's all squishy and the landlady gets bitchy if anyone walks on it."

"You'll just have to let me in, then. Oh, Alice. I don't know. Do we have to start with the details? Can't we work it out later?"

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow," I said glumly.

"And when will you be back?"

"I don't have a solid plan. A couple of months, if..."

"If... yeah. I get it. Tell you what. Let's try this. See if you feel the same in a month and then we'll try it."

"I'll call..."

"No. No contact. Your normal life will probably snap back. Or mine will. But if not, then we'll know."

"That seems like going for the tourniquet when maybe all that's needed is a band aid."

"Guess we'll see."

"What about...?"

"What about what?"

"We took some risks."

"Yeah, we did. Maybe it won't be anything, but if it is, I won't make any decisions without you, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good night then."

"Good night, Alice."

Wednesday I rose from a restless slumber, packed my bags, drank my terrible coffee, and checked out. The rideshare driver was talkative, a young Asian fellow with a steady stream of patter. I pretended to be on my phone. I felt weirdly hollow.

SeaTac was its same old self. Security Time Theater and the Sky Lounge and the rinky-dink commuter jet to San Francisco. Frisco was still its old self, basking in winter sunshine on its seven hills. I didn't want to be there.

The customer visits were pro forma and I found myself in my hotel. I stared at my phone. No messages from Alice.

I had a friend, sometimes with benefits, in the city. I called her up and she answered on the second ring.

"You're in town! I could use with some company. Bring a bottle of red."

Amy was a buxom woman of my age, dyed red hair, big in every dimension. She had take-out and I brought a decent Napa cabernet. Our conversation went well, until she turned towards the intimate part of the evening.

It must have shown in my face.

"You having a little heart trouble?"

I explained the most basic details about Alice.

"Oh, you poor dear, you have it bad. Tell you what, I'm going to give you a hug. You can have the couch if you want it or head home. My bed, of course, is open, but you don't owe me anything. You know, I'd be sad to lose this, but I'm thrilled for you."

At the end of the week, I made it home. My body went through the motions--laundry, consumables, expenses, reports, housekeeping and bill-paying. I felt like my face was frozen in a perpetual scowl. And everywhere I went I saw them: strollers, baby buggies, happy toddlers, pregnant mothers.

I worked harder, threw myself into it. My next trip was starting to coalesce. I tried to plan it. The weekend came and I stared at the ceiling, watched old westerns all day. Frankly, I moped.

By Tuesday I was climbing the walls. I started looking at flights to Seattle. I checked my paid time off balance. I hadn't used any in years: I was maxed out and losing days off. I stared at the browser.

A month. That's what she said. Maybe she was picking up married guys at the Top Pot right now? Maybe, in spite of myself, I was being el stupido.

Right at the nadir of my self-pity, my phone buzzed.

Alice.

"U there?"

"Here," I replied. My fingers itched to send... so much more.

"Call me?"

I dialed.

"Hey," she said.

"I can't get you out of my head," I told her. My heart stopped cold, my bowels filled with fear, profound terror at my admission, at her power over me.

"Huh," she said. "Guess we have something in common."

I paused.

"We're going to have something else in common too, that is, if you want it."

"What's that, Alice?"

"In about nine months, that is."

"Don't think I can wait that long to see you."

"Me either."

"I can be there by midnight if I leave now," I offered.

"Best get a move on," she said.

So I did.