From the first moment her eyes met mine, I knew there was something special in store for us.
* * *
I was at a party - not a drunken frat-boy stand on your head and drink from a funnel party - but a gathering of friends. Sort of. It was an eclectic group. The host, Damen, a respected author I'd gone to college with, was throwing a small soiree to celebrate his new book's release.
We'd kept in touch over the years; I was one of his first readers and had caught a few gaffs. He'd even thanked me in an afterward. He also knew I was still getting over a bad divorce and wasn't really in the mood for a gathering, but he'd strong-armed me into it. Promised to use me as a character in his next book. He always promised that.
To shut him up, I'd agreed to go, knowing I could expect anything from a frenzied Saturnalia to thirty people sitting cross-legged on the floor in his living room listening to his absolutely abysmal poetry.
As it turned out, it was somewhere between a comfortable gathering between friends - who'd never met before that night - and a high-brow literary snob-fest. Not really my scene, but there I was. Not really happy, definitely not into the party, but actually attempting quietly to break out of the anti-social rut I was in.
I'd been there for about an hour and a half and was thinking about quietly making my way to the door and escaping back home. I took one last look around, quietly amused at the wide spectrum of people Damen had invited, and even more quietly amused by how hard all of them were trying to look confident and comfortable; it was obvious most of them were nervous and not sure why they were there. The too-bright smiles, the too-emphatic laugher. I think Damen had invited a bunch of people in similar situations to mine. Maybe to try and break us out of our shells, or maybe just because it amused him to watch us all squirm. You could never tell with him. I don't know why I kept hanging out with him.
As I finished my quick scan of the room and started moving toward the door, a motion from my left caught my eye and I swiveled my gaze in that direction, and that's when I saw her.
A goddess. Straight brown hair pulled into a high pony-tail, deep brown eyes, thick kissable lips painted a bright whore red. Her rubenesque figure captivated me as my eyes drifted down her body. The way her massive breasts strained against the tank top she wore, the way her curvaceous hips filled out the plaid mini skirt that barely managed to cover her luscious ass. The way her smooth, bare, strong thighs flowed down into those knee-high black leather boots. She was such a vision of sex and beauty I couldn't move at all.
After a moment, I blinked, looked at her face again and our eyes met. To this day I can't describe what I saw there, but I knew exactly what to do. I moved toward her, ignoring everyone else in the room, thoughts flying through my head too fast for coherence.
I stopped in front of her. Her eyes were questioning as I just stared, no expression on my face. I help out my hand, palm up, and said simply, "Your phone."
She blinked, and a look of confusion flashed across her face. Then a quiver ran through her and she closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. Holding her breath for just a moment, she remained absolutely motionless. Then she blew the breath through her pursed lips, looked at me through lowered lids, and placed her phone in my hand.
I opened her contacts and entered my number with the name, "Call me."
I placed the phone back in her hand and said, "When you're ready." I ran the back of my fingers across her cheek, down her neck, to the strap of her tank, turned my back and walked away.
* * *
Before seeing her, I would never have imagined I'd do something like that. I'm not overly insecure about my appearance, but I'm not overly confident, either. The best way to describe me, from my head to my toes and everything in between, would be average. I'm six feet tall, brown hair, average-looking face, average-looking body, average-sized cock. My most distinguishing features would be my blue eyes and - as female friends have told me - a very nice ass. Nothing about me suggests that I should be confident enough to approach a gorgeous woman and do what I had just done.
Nothing except that indefinable something in her eyes. That look that some how, some way I'll never be able to quantify, told me that sooner or later, she would belong to me.
* * *
Two weeks had gone by since the party and I hadn't heard from the brunette. No matter. I knew she would call. Sooner or later.
In the meantime, I went about making a life for myself, picking up the pieces after the divorce. I bought a few new items of clothing. I straightened up the house and kept it clean. I threw out things my ex had left behind and tried to erase her presence from my house and my life.
* * *
Another week had gone by. It was nine on a Friday night. I'd just finished my uninspiring dinner for one, had cleaned up the dishes, and was considering whether to watch a movie, or troll the internet for porn when my phone rang.
