Chapter 3 - Austin
Go on a date, they said. It will be fun, they said . . .
~Austin Brite
I carefully packed my guitar and portable speaker away. The crowd was distracted by two women causing a scene in the park, which gave me the perfect opportunity to tuck tail and run. I had a date tonight, and if I didn’t get moving, I’d be late. Mavis, the old woman I had met a few years ago, shuffled forward with her walking stick clutched in one shaky hand, gifting me one of the gentle smiles I had come to love. I didn’t have the opportunity to grow up with a grandmother. My grandmother on my mother’s side passed away when my mother was a teenager, and my grandmother on my father’s side was estranged. Mavis was a Prospect Park local who always came down to watch me play. I had walked her from her apartment today, and she’d stayed for the full hour and a half while I played. Mavis was a tiny little thing with heavily stooped shoulders and long white hair carefully coiled into a bun at the nap of her neck. She was a fire cracker, though, the words that often came out of her mouth at odds with the sweet old lady she portrayed. Heck, she looked like Tweety Bird’s granny and talked like Sharon Osbourne.
“Leaving already?” she murmured.
“I have a date tonight, and if there’s one thing my momma taught me that stuck, it was not to keep a lady waiting.”
Mavis chuckled. “And you should never deny her orgasms.” I stopped what I was doing and simply stared at her. Mavis shrugged. “It’s just plain mean,” she said with an impish smile.
“Agreed.” I chuckled. “You want me to walk you home?” I asked, shaking my head at her unexpected comment.
“I’m not ready to go yet. I might take a walk through the park.”
Nodding, I followed Mavis’s gaze. She was watching the two women who had finally quieted down, but still seemed tense and in the grips of a passionate argument.
“They sure are wild ones,” she murmured. “I’ll be forever grateful to the good Lord for blessing me with boys.”
I cast the women another quick look. They were both exceptionally beautiful, the flawless kind of beautiful that graced magazine covers and catwalks, and they sure did have an air of wildness about them, probably attributed to the fact they were just going at it like Muhammad Ali and George Foreman. They were certainly pretty to look at. Around five foot six, one with long black hair, the other long pale blonde, both with legs that just kept going, perky tits, they were aesthetically perfect in every way. Too perfect and too high maintenance. I’d had plenty of one night entanglements with women who looked like that, they were too much trouble but enjoyable for a quick indulgence. Unfortunately, I was no longer looking for that kind of short-term pleasure.
I dipped to give Mavis a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Dinner next week?” she asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I said with a smile, giving her a wave before heading off for my apartment which was a short two-block walk.
I’d been doing dinner once a month with Mavis for almost two years now. Her own sons were both in the military and spent a lot of time overseas. She said feeding me helped her fill the gap that was her absent boys. While I enjoyed Mavis’s company immensely, her quick wit and a very liberal view on life always kept me entertained, it was her cooking that truly blew my mind. It was something that would put seasoned chefs to shame.
As I crossed the street, my phone began to vibrate from my back pocket and I wrestled with my gear for a moment before pulling it free. A photo of my best friend’s ass greeted me.
“Son of a bitch,” I cursed. “When did you put a picture of your ugly ass on my phone?” I said as way of answering.
“I knew you’d know my ass anywhere. Beau owes me fifty.” Walker said with a chuckle.
“Firstly, your name comes up as well as the picture, dipshit, and secondly, I haven’t seen your ass since you were fifteen and trying to hammer Lindy into the beach on Lake Powell, which is a sight I have been trying to unsee ever since.”
“Ahhhh, Loose Lindy. Damn, I haven’t thought about her in years. We should really do a trip back to Lake Powell just for old time sake.”
“I hated Lake Powell,” I grunted.
And I truly did. It was one of those vacation destinations where I would get bored out of my ever lovin’ mind while Walker would disappear to nail anything that wasn’t already nailed down. We’d been lazy and obnoxious fifteen-year-olds, and much to Walker’s disgust, I didn’t lose my virginity until I was seventeen. It wasn’t necessarily by choice; I simply had trouble finding a girl worthy of my untried stick. While Walker was aroused by any and all pussy, I’d been a touch more fussy.
“Only because you never got laid, but dude, Loose Lindy would have ridden you like a cowgirl if you’d let her.”
“I wouldn’t have touched her if she was the last woman left on earth. That girl was a walking, talking STD.”
“Don’t forget sucking, licking, moaning—”
“Did this call have a purpose, or did you just want me to see you hairy ass?”
“I know for a fact it’s not hairy. Gisele at Wax On, Wax Off sees to that. Back, sack, and crack, my friend.”
“Well, there’s another mental image I’ll be cursed with for another twenty years,” I muttered, trying hard to think of anything but Walker’s butt.
“Beau and I are heading to your sister’s new bar for a game of pool. Want to come hustle with us?”
“Can’t, I have a date.”
“Who with?” Walker demanded, outrage clearly evident in his tone. “And why didn’t I know about this?”
I mentally sighed. This is why he didn’t know, because the drama fucking king would make a big deal out of it. As a rule, I didn’t date. Well, I didn’t used to date. I was tired of the whole catch and release game. It was getting tedious, and I had an unnerving image of me at sixty, alone, bald, and trying to pick up twenty-somethings at a bar. That was just fucking sad.
“Deena O'Sullivan, and you are unaware because I haven’t spoken to you since it was arranged two days ago. Although, this may come as a shock to you, I do have a life outside of Walker Thomas.”
“Bullshit, there is no such thing as life outside of Walker Thomas, and Deena? She’s a spiteful bitch. I bet you a hundred large she’s got fangs where her vagina should be.”
“That’s another reason I didn’t tell you. She turned you down, so you automatically hate her.”
I stepped into the large foyer of my apartment complex and used my elbow to press the button for the elevator.
“She only dates men who have thoroughbred family background. She’s dating you because of who your mom and dad is, not because she wants a ride on the Austin express.”
“Okay, well, I’ll let you know about the fangs tomorrow. Be sure to put a hundred aside now. I don’t want you blowing it all at the bar tonight.”
“Dude, I’ll meet you at the ER later tonight, when they’re trying to surgically reattach mini Austin.”
At that, I hung up and slid the phone into my back pocket. Stepping from the elevator, I walked the long hallway to my apartment and unlocked the door, kicking it open with my foot. Stepping into the large, open-plan studio, I carefully placed my gear to one side and used the remote to turn on some music. Twenty One Pilot’s Ride filled the room as I made my way to the bathroom to get ready for my date. There was no excitement or anticipation about the evening, and my dick that hadn’t touched a vagina or mouth in months could have cared less. Deena had been bugging me for months now to go out, and after having a few drinks with her cousin, he had convinced me to give things a try. Over the last forty-eight hours, I’d been a heartbeat away from calling it off at least five times, but in the end decided I was man enough to see a single damn date through. After brushing my teeth and splashing some water on my face, I walked back into the living space, and dragged a clean button-down shirt from a clothing rack beside my bed and pulled it on.
I loved my apartment. It wasn’t flashy, but had more of an industrial vibe going on with one entire wall exposed brick, the rest white plasterboard. I came from money, lots of money. My mother and father founded the hugely successful cosmetic company, Chilled Lily, named in Forbes Top 20 Largest Private Company List for the last three years running. I could have lived anywhere, somewhere bigger, better, but instead of accepting handouts, I paid my own way. As soon as I graduated college, with honors mind you, I slipped straight into a great job, and I worked hard and invested well. I owned my apartment outright, and although it wasn’t opulent, it was in a good building and great neighborhood. I’d furnished the place with modern fixtures and some kick-ass art courtesy of a one-night conquest who went on to become a longtime friend. Ruby had a flare for painting abstract images of people. Most of the canvases on my walls were of women, naked women. Walker frequently high fived my ability to hang porn on my walls and call it ‘art.’
My living area was large with a comfy-as-fuck leather sectional, huge LCD TV, and massive timber coffee table. Everything was bought new and had cost me pretty much every penny I’d ever earned. I had a degree in software engineering and spent my first ten years out of college at a desk writing code and developing apps. I enjoyed the challenge of developing software from scratch and excelled at thinking outside the box, but I’d quickly become agitated at being stuck behind a computer for eighty odd hours a week and my social life took a dramatic dive. Earning a decent nest egg in those first ten years allowed me to take a leap of faith and quit my solid, permanent job and take a position with Walker’s father as a carpenter. I already had the creative flair and was a quick study. Fast forward five years and I loved my job, loved bringing pieces of wood to life and loved the freedom of moving around a warehouse and getting my hands dirty. When I wasn’t working at the shed with old Eddie, I was playing bars and streets, entertaining my other love: music. All the money I earned from busking went to an organization called The Basement, who take in under-privileged kids and teach them everything they could ever want to know about music and instruments. It gave the kids not only a creative outlet, but a possible future income.
After pulling on some dress shoes, I finger combed my hair in a mirror that hung by the door. I was a good looking man and my ego was inflated enough to admit it. I worked out six days a week to keep in shape, and splurged more than I probably should have on a hairdresser who could give me that just climbed from bed look. Hence, the finger combing. My eyes were a weird green, kind of pale and were commented on often. My nose was straight, jaw strong, and I stood tall at a little over six feet. The package was altogether pretty fucking decent. Enough conquests notched my bed to assure me I would never be lacking for female company, but over the last year, something had changed. Maybe it was turning thirty-five, maybe it was boredom, whatever it was had seen those notches take a dramatic fall in number. I was no longer interested in easy lays. I was searching for something more, and I wasn’t even sure what that was yet.
Reaching for my keys and phone, my mind drifted back to the women who were bickering alongside my busking performance this afternoon. I’d always been a sucker for beautifully presented women with feminine curves and legs for miles. After a while, I came to realize that no matter how pretty the wrapping, many of those women were plain ugly inside. I guess I was tired of all the pretty wrapping. I wanted bright smiles, intelligent conversation, and a woman with more depth than expensive cosmetic foundation and botox. Deena was attractive in a more understated way, and she seemed nice enough, with an easy confidence and flirty smile that she wore well. I figured even if the date was a fail, I might get an itch scratched tonight. I was trying to cut back on my unhealthy obsession with one-night stands, but I needed to expel some built up tension before I did permanent damage to my dick.