Marie
“Seriously Marie, lighten up,” scolded my friend Angie. “Guys are going to think you have the shakes, you’re so wound up.”
I bit my lip as the elevator zoomed to the top of the tower.
“I don’t know Ang,” I said nervously, heart fluttering. “It’s been a long time since I was out.”
“That’s it exactly,” huffed my friend. “It’s been a long time since Marie Sands was out, way too long in fact. What, were you going to join a nunnery next? Seriously Marie, you’re divorced, not dead.”
And I bit my lip again because Ang had a point. I’ve been divorced for five years now and haven’t found it in me to date yet. I guess I got burned hard when Rob, my high school sweetheart, left me for a woman ten years younger, a bouncy bright blonde that made me feel old and washed out in comparison. But Ang had all the answers.
“Stop tugging at your skirt, girl,” she scolded. “You look fine, if I had a body like yours, trust me, I’d be showing a lot more skin.”
And I laughed then because the outfit I was wearing was totally out of character. Angie had coaxed me into a wine-colored cocktail dress with a shockingly daring décolletage and a skirt up to there, skimming the tops of my thighs, showing off creamy flesh. And to top it all off, I had on four inch heels, elongating my legs and making me feel positively willowy.
Well, as willowy as a curvy girl can be because I’m round all around. It was part of what stung so bad about the break up. Rob had told me he wanted petite, tiny and neat, and I was none of that. I was juicy, with boobs out to there and a behind out to here. I can’t help it, I’ve been this way since I was fifteen and started developing, and it was a slap in the face when my ex said I wasn’t “desirable,” that I wasn’t “sexy,” and he wasn’t attracted to me anymore.
But all that was in the past. Even though it felt like it happened yesterday sometimes, making me gasp with pain, five years was five years, and I made myself take a deep breath and summon my courage.
“Come on girl,” chirped Angie as the door slid open. “Let’s meet some men and have a good time!” she yelped, sashaying into the cocktail lounge like she owned it. Tentatively, I stepped forward, a little disoriented by the dark interior, lit only with flashing strobe lights and some dim wall sconces. Figures milled about in shadow, drinks in hand, the men in suits and the women in tiny cocktail dresses, everyone elegant and suave, like they belonged here. I gulped, feeling like the odd man out. I hadn’t been social in years. Because sure, I have my women’s book club, I play tennis, swim, I even crochet sometimes with the local ladies, but dating? No, my heart had been torn to shreds five years ago and it’d taken that long to recover. If I was even recovered. So yeah, I hadn’t dated in ages, since I was eighteen in fact, and the rules had definitely changed.
“Excuse me,” harrumphed one elderly gentleman, bumping into us. “Pardon me, lovely ladies.”
“No worries,” chirped Ang, a smile lighting up her striking features. “Nice to meet you, I’m Angela.”
I was furtively making eyes at her, signaling “No, no!” Because the gentleman, while nice looking, was far too old. He had to be at least seventy, with snow white hair and deep grooves around the corners of his mouth, jaw slack with age. But Angie completely ignored me, instead allowing the man to take her hand and press a kiss to the back, like she was a princess.
“You two are so beautiful,” he purred. “What brings you here tonight?” he asked.
And Angela, ever the big blabbermouth, immediately spilled the beans.
“My friend Marie here hasn’t been on a date since her divorce,” she said promptly. “You got any friends for her?”
I turned beet red at that, ears going hot, cheeks flaming pink. Oh god hopefully they couldn’t see, hopefully it was so dark in here that no one could tell that I was currently the color of a tomato, flashing hot and then ice cold within seconds, a cold sweat breaking on my brow.
“No, Ang, that’s not it,” I protested. “I’m just, you know, getting to know myself,” I said helplessly, smiling at the old man. “Stepping back into the world after a couple years of self-imposed exile.”
But the gentleman was kind, if a little old-fashioned.
“A woman as beautiful as you isn’t going to have any trouble,” he said with a bow, even waving his hand as a flourish. “You’re a breath of fresh air, a breeze amid these shadows, and men will be throwing flowers at your feet, dying to escort a femme fatale.”
I had to giggle at the flowery phrases, exchanging a glance with my friend. Was this guy Sir Lancelot, courting a lovely lady in waiting? Maybe I hadn’t dated in a long time, but still, I knew cheesy when I saw it. And thankfully, Ang agreed.
“Thank you kind sir,” said my friend, shooting him a smile. “We’re gonna get ourselves drinks, we’ll catch up with you later.”
And with a quick smile, we moved on, losing ourselves in the crowd.
“Ang,” I said, shaking my head, grabbing her elbow for a moment. “I don’t know if this is a good idea, that wasn’t exactly what I expected.”
But my blonde friend was unperturbed.
“No worries, you’ve got to kiss a lot of frogs before you get to a prince, and besides, that wasn’t exactly frog-like,” she said. “He was nice in his own way, you know, old at all.”
I snorted.
“Old? That’s it? More like he was super-cheesy and super-old. Please Ang,” I said. “I haven’t dated in a while, but I’m only thirty-nine. Like you said, I’m not dead and I’d still love someone who has a heartbeat and lives in this century.”
“Oh you!” pshawed Angela. “So picky, and it’s only your first night out! No worries, a heartbeat it is then,” she smiled wickedly. “But let me get you a drink, mojito okay?” she asked before turning away. And just like that, my friend started burrowing into the crowd at the bar, pushing her way through reams of well-dressed people, determined to get to the front.
I sighed. Ang was always going to be Ang, the good and the bad mixed into one. On the one hand, my friend was a lifesaver. She was the one who’d convinced me to come out, who’d harangued me during multiple phone calls, cajoled me into this outfit, and built up my confidence so that I could wear something sexy, something revealing, giving up my nurse’s scrubs. But on the other, Ang was so bold, so brave and socially confident that she’d left me alone at the party. She was now deep into the thicket, her blonde head shining amid a sea of others, authoritatively ordering drinks, clasping her purse tight as elbows jostled, drinks sloshed, and talk rang out, loud and raucous.
I could never do that. I’ve always been shy and parties have never been my thing, even when I was young. Besides, it’s always been Rob for me. Or was, past tense. We’d met when I was fifteen and he was sixteen, getting married as soon as we were legal. Back then, I thought it’d be a forever thing, that the handsome boy would morph the man of my dreams, that he’d be everything and anything I needed. But after fifteen years together and one beautiful baby boy, it all went to shit. Rob found his teenage slut, and over the course of one year, managed to divorce me, marry her, and get her pregnant, three for three.
So I snorted a little. Life hasn’t been easy, and yeah, it’d taken five years for me to recover. I’d thrown myself into work, into being a mother, and fortunately my son Robbie has turned out okay despite his parents’ acrimonious divorce. In fact, Robbie was at State now, doing a double major in Environmental Science and Economics and I was never more proud of him. My handsome boy had grown up and was ten times the man his father was, responsible, hardworking, and a stellar athlete at that, it was his soccer scholarship paying his tuition. I’d gotten off light given that school fees now topped thirty thousand a year.
But still, there was something missing in my life. Maybe it was the fact that Robbie was gone, maybe it was the fact that the house was empty without him, dark and silent when I came home at night, maybe it was the fact that I was hitting forty soon. But what would make me happy again, what would make me buzz with excitement and life, was another child. Yes, it was time for a second baby, and now at thirty-nine, my timeline was short, biological clock thumping like the beat of congo drums.
So yeah, I was here hoping to meet a man, but realistically, was my baby daddy going to be here tonight, at this party? Probably not. What with meeting someone, dating for years, getting engaged, being engaged for years, and then finally a wedding, getting to baby the traditional way took forever and then some. So yeah, it was unlikely that Mr. Dad was milling about tonight, sipping a cocktail, making small talk.
But no worries, modern technology is wonderful because it almost doesn’t take a man anymore. There’s a thing called sperm donation, guys who sell their swimmers to a bank and then you can literally buy the goods. It’s crazy if you think about it, a man selling his DNA, what makes him him. But I guess it makes sense given that there are so many reasons why a woman might need sperm. Maybe they’re a lesbian couple who wants to conceive, maybe they’re an infertile hetero couple who need a little juice. Or maybe you’re like me, hitting forty with no man in sight but determined to have a baby, a cooing infant in my arms.
So surreptitiously, without telling anyone, I’d researched the process and looked into the best donor banks. It made me a little nervous honestly, going to the fertility clinic and clicking through page after page of information about potential baby daddies, nothing but words, words, words, plus a childhood picture if you were lucky. And so far, I hadn’t found anyone I liked, despite spending hours studying each profile, reading each one carefully, weighing the pros and cons of each man. There was Donor 162, who was tall with blonde hair and blue eyes, but his hobbies were puzzles, crosswords, and Sudoku. Nothing against that, but it just sounded unbelievably nerdy to me, even if the guy’s IQ was sky high.
And then there was Donor 1798, who was of mixed Greek, Latin, and Mediterranean heritage, and spoke six languages after living in thirty countries as a war photographer. But that was the thing. What if my child wanted to find his father one day? What were the chances that the war photographer would still be alive? So I shut the door on that donor too, sighing and exasperated. There were so many guys, but the descriptions didn’t do them justice, it was so difficult to describe a person via an application. And frankly, I was starting to give up. What seemed like it would be easy, plucking a resume from a stack, was actually turning out to be a huge chore, sobering and dispiriting.
But I wasn’t here for that tonight. I was here to drink, dance, get out, and let loose a little after years with my nose to the grindstone, home alone with my cat most nights. So I glanced around, waiting for Ang, hoping I didn’t look too desperate.
And whaddya know, but another senior citizen came up to me. Why was I attracting these ancient guys? This one looked like a fat cat, an investment banker with French cuffs and striped suspenders, his face red and glistening.
“Hey,” Mr. Cat growled. “What’s up?”
Was that all? Was that how he courted women, hoping to get laid? But maybe he was relying on his fancy Ferragamo loafers, the Hermes belt, the gold ring on a chubby pinky.
“Hi,” I said politely. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, I’m Patrick,” he said peremptorily. “Architect over at Hudson Bay. You heard of it? We did the World Trade Center, built that up after the planes took it down.”
I nodded, trying to look impressed. The city had been shaken after the attack, and the new Freedom Tower was a source of pride for us all, a hallmark of how far we’d come since the attacks. But the new WTC took ten years to build and had involved thousands, if not tens of thousands of people across two administrations. There was no way this guy had done it alone. But Patrick wasn’t waiting for an answer, nor was he exactly humble.
“Yeah,” he boasted. “Bloomberg was shit and Di Blasio wasn’t much better, without me there would be nothing,” he said. “Without me spearheading the effort, we’d still have a construction pit in the ground.”
That made me pause. In fact, I’d heard nothing but positive things about our two mayors with respect to the rebuilding effort, why was this guy denigrating them? It was hardly the way to introduce yourself to a new lady, putting others down as much as possible. So I tried to excuse myself, mumbling something about my friend waiting, how I needed to get back to her. But the portly man was insistent and slapped a hand on my waist.
“You look curvy, just my type,” he sneered. “I can make it good for you chica.”
What the hell? I looked at his meaty fist on the curve of my hip, sitting their possessively like it belonged there. Ugh, there was a sweaty handprint forming on the fabric of my dress, I wanted nothing but to get away. So I made my excuses, more forcefully this time.
“Um, I’m sorry,” I said frigidly. “But I’m not looking for whatever you’re offering.”
And Fat Cat goggled his eyes at me again, pulling me closer, that meaty hand still clawing at fabric of my dress, making my skin crawl with disgust.
“Come on little lady,” he leaned close, the alcohol stench from his breath blowing in my face. “Come on, let ole Pat put his dick in you, it’ll feel good in that tight cunt.”
And I gasped, about to grind my high heel onto his foot, make him squeal like a pig on a roast when suddenly I was pulled away and into safety, into the arms of an alpha male.
“Sorry buddy,” came a low, growling voice, “but she’s with me.”
I looked up to see the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. Tall, with dark hair and deep blue eyes, his chest was broad and wide, arms toned, long legs encased in black slacks. And a white smile flashed although it was anything but friendly. Instead, the man looked about to growl, to jump the fat architect and beat him to a pulp upon the slightest provocation, he just needed a good excuse.
But the fat man caved like a candle melting in flame.
“She didn’t say she was with anyone!” he whined. “She was just standing there, hanging onto my every word, she liked me!”
And I grew stiff, outraged and protesting.
“No,” I started, “I never said anything, I was …”
But it didn’t matter because the architect was already gone, his shiny head disappearing in the crowd, his blonde fluff waving comically like duck feathers.
“Thanks,” I murmured shyly, turning to the man before me. And getting a good look, I gasped because my savior was even better looking than I initially thought. Dimples dotted his cheeks as he smiled, and he shot me another appraising look, letting that blue gaze trail over my breasts, my waist, my big, swinging hips. My body burst into flames, a tingle in my cunt, nips growing hard despite myself. Oh god, oh god, this was so embarrassing, the thin fabric of this dress was no match for my huge Double Ds and I only prayed that my nips weren’t sticking out like bullets, hard and pointy for the man to see.
But he could read my arousal, smiling sensuously at me as his gaze lingered on my breasts, the way they trailed over my cleavage, up my neck and then resting on my peachy mouth.
“No worries,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just made my body catch fire, pussy moisten deliciously. “You’re a beautiful woman, figures it happens to you all the time. I’m Trent, by the way,” he said sticking out his hand.
And I took it shyly, that huge grasp swallowing up my small one, the touch electric, making me gasp. But I had to act normal, I had to act like I had a brain and wasn’t dissolving into a puddle right here in the middle of the bar.
“Hi,” I blushed, trying not to show that I was breathing hard. “I’m Marie.”
He grinned at me.
“So what are you doing here, Marie?” he asked, eyebrow quirked. “This isn’t the place a pretty lady like you usually hangs out, is it?”
And I flushed.
“Um no, my friend Angela brought me here,” I said quickly, scanning the crowd for Ang’s head. Where was she anyways? But then I saw her over to the side, laughing and chatting amiably with three men. Oh yeah, my friend was such a flirt she was entertaining three guys on her own, all of them laughing uproariously as she tossed her hair back, made faces, even did a little dance as part of her antics. “I’m usually at home on a Friday night,” I murmured. “This is new for me.”
“New huh?” he asked. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have guessed the Boom Room was the place for beautiful women, I thought it was more dudes looking to hook up with whatever tramps were in sight.”
And I gasped, shocked. Really? This was that type of place? There was nothing to indicate that it was, there was a soft thrum of music in the background, everyone dressed to the nines.
But the man leaned close, his breath warm in my ear.
“See that female over there?” he said in a low voice, indicating a woman at the edge of the bar.
And I looked. There was a middle-aged chick sitting at the bar, brown hair in an elegant chignon with a deep red dress on, nothing crazy about her, she looked normal, just another lady stirring a drink, looking around like she was waiting for a date.
“She’s a high-priced working girl, just wait for it,” he murmured again.
And I gasped, both from his proximity and the fact that I couldn’t believe it. In fact, this woman could have been me, looking a little unsure of herself. But as I watched, a man slid onto the seat beside her and she smiled at him, her eyes lighting up, friendly yet sensuous.
“No, she’s just single,” I whispered back to the alpha male, light going off in my body because of his proximity. “That guy’s picking her up, see?”
But then things took a turn. Because with a flirtatious smile, the woman trailed a finger up her companion’s sleeve, murmuring something, and the look in the man’s eyes changed. Instead of enjoying sexy banter with a pretty lady, his eyes grew hard, contemplative, sliding over her body like she was a piece of artwork meat be purchased. In fact, he went even further. The man lifted one of her hands from her side, as if to get a better look at his body before nodding curtly, the excitement gone from his eyes.
“See?” came the low rumble in my ear. “See, she just named her price, and he’s agreed.”
I spun around, brown eyes wide, looking into his.
“So it’s really happening?’ I breathed, catching his blue gaze with mine. “They’re really going to …?” I stuttered, still disbelieving, unable to finish my sentence.
And the alpha male nodded again, amused, chucking my chin gently.
“You really are innocent aren’t you?” he chuckled deeply. “But yes, pretty baby, that woman just got bought by the man she was talking to. See? They’re heading up to a room even now.”
And I watched, mesmerized, as the man paid the bill and left, leaving the woman sitting at the bar. But instead of sipping her drink, instead, she slowly slung her purse over her shoulder and got up, looking like nothing was wrong. And with a secret smile, she waltzed over to the elevators, watching as the light up above hit a certain floor. And when it did, she nodded to herself with satisfaction.
“That’s right,” murmured Trent in my ear again. “The man’s at his room now, and the woman’s going to join him.”
And as we watched, another elevator came, the doors sliding open. The brunette stepped the empty chamber and we watched as the doors closed on her neutral face, pretty, pleasant, nice-looking. But sure enough, the elevator began moving and what do you know, it stopped on the same floor as the man.
“The transaction’s begun,” murmured Trent into my ear. “Our working girl hooked herself a client and they’re up there now, playing with each other.”
I turned to him, heart beating a million miles a second.
“It’s incredible,” I whispered, cheeks aflame although I’d done nothing wrong, it wasn’t me scouting for a john. “She looked so normal, you know? There was nothing about her that gave it away. She could have been a PTA mom, a neighbor who bakes cookies, a really nice woman.
The alpha male smiled at me once more, his eyes knowing.
“That’s the thing baby girl,” he said, voice low. “The best hookers aren’t usually porn stars or obvious street walkers. The highest paid ones are the ones who are normal women, who give a good girlfriend experience. Do you know that term?”
And I shook my head. This was all new to me, I never would have picked that woman out as a hooker, not in a million years.
“No, what’s that?” I breathed.
The big man smiled at me knowingly.
“The best hookers offer something called ‘the girlfriend experience’ for lonely guys. It goes way beyond sex, it’s all about making the guy comfortable, making him feel like he’s on top of the world, like he’s got an adoring girlfriend.”
My cheeks flamed.
“Oh my god, I never would have guessed,” I murmured. “Girlfriend experience,” I said, rolling the words over my tongue. “Oh my god.”
The big man took my small hand in his then, his fingers swallowing my palm, so safe, so warm, encasing me fully.
“You’ve never heard of any of this?” he questioned gently, giving me a squeeze, blue eyes intense. “None of it?”
And I colored a little, praying that the darkness hid my embarrassment.
“No never,” I murmured, looking down a little shy. “I’ve been divorced for a while, and I guess the world’s kind of left me behind, rolled away when I wasn’t looking. I’m been a little out of it.”
“Well, if you like, I’m more than happy to show you,” he rumbled, eyebrows raised, blue eyes inviting.
I looked up sharply then, breath coming quick. Was he …? Was the big man really propositioning me, right here, in the middle of a crowded bar? I’d only met him ten minutes ago, it was so wild, so crazy and yet so tempting. Because god, Trent was sexy, commanding, confident, his big frame looming over mine, a knowing smile on his lips.
So I stuttered a bit, unsure what to say. “Um,” I murmured, stalling for time. Suddenly, however, Ang’s words rang out in my head.
“Let yourself go,” her voice chimed, “Sheesh Marie, you’ve been so down and depressed for five years, let yourself have some fun, it’ll be good for you,” came the words of my friend, clear as a bell.
And just like that, I tossed caution to the winds. Taking a deep breath, I straightened my shoulders and looked Trent in the eye, chin up, brown meeting blue.
“Yes, I’d like that,” I said quietly, sure of myself, nervous yet excited, heart beating wildly in my chest. “Yes, I’d like it.”
And the big man rumbled in his chest, hand still warm over mine.
“Then let’s get out of here, yeah?” he asked. “Let’s get out of here and somewhere nice.”
And as heat surged through my curvy form, I followed him out of the bar, the alpha with my hand in his, leading the way, so sure, so confident. Was this really happening? Was I going to have a one-night stand with a stranger, one so devastatingly sexy, so handsome that my legs felt weak even thinking about it, body warm? And as we stepped into the elevator, my heart beat even faster because I looked into those blue eyes again and knew it was right. This was exactly what I needed to let the new Marie out, and I couldn’t wait for the alpha to take me. I was his … for tonight, at least.