Part 1 - Where Cambridge Lies
Inspired in part by Twitter .
Dedicated to them, them who might actually like me, them who are capable of not hating a man who is neither alive, nor dead.
Sandstone hair, eyes the color of the ocean on the clearest, bluest day, a voice like a crackling fire in the fireplace, with white in his executive beard and at the temples; he was a lighter compliment to her darker brunette beauty. He met her one night in a small bar in Cambridge, city of technology and business. The bar was called Champions, a sports bar, and they served his favorite beer, a local one called Pretty Things' Jack d'Or. He went there frequently just for it; it was a Saison, sometimes called a farmhouse ale. The delicious and spicy flavor reminded him of back home, when he used to bale hay. Tonight, however, he had a glass of deep red wine, a Carmenere that was a prodigious find.
He scratched fitfully at his beard as she continued the conversation on her own. He was having a hard time paying attention, because her breasts were so large they were like a second gravitational point. He suspected they must be fake, because she was quite slender otherwise. But even they couldn't distract from her hair, which flowed in stylish, wide curls down over her shoulders, a deep brown waterfall, glossier than any magazine cover.
"John, are you listening?" She asked with a big smile. Her perfectly straight and white teeth left him temporarily speechless.
"Yes, sorry. Was distracted for a moment. Please go on." Her name was Peitho, which he wasn't confident pronouncing as yet, especially not with that much alcohol in him. When she introduced herself, he had to look it up because it sounded familiar. He was beginning to understand why she introduced herself as that, and why she was probably using a pseudonym. He hadn't given her his real name either, because he'd also had to deal with stalkers before, just as he was sure she had. But by giving him that particular name, instead of something like Gretchen, surely that was a good sign?
"As I was saying, I love April Fools' day. It just makes me laugh more and more every year. Twitter goes nuts, and people party like they don't have to work the next day." She paused. "And I get to meet interesting men on occasion."
"You do? Where?!" John replied quickly, looking behind him, confused. She laughed before he even had to explain that it was a joke, so he knew she was a keeper. It sounds as if he was overconfident of his humor, but it was more that he understood he could be rather obscure at times, and not everyone understood sarcasm all that well. Peitho did, though, and she wasn't afraid to use it. He really liked that. Hell, he really liked her personality in general. Flirty without being insane, and generally just very open and interesting.
"I was only April Fooling, of course. There are no interesting men in this part of Boston." She was smiling the whole time of course, trying to stifle the laughter at her own joke. He laughed enough for both of them, a deep, resonating laugh. She really liked his laugh and his eyes.
She choked a little on her beer. "Sorry, I don't normally have trouble swallowing." She smiled again. As intoxicating as the wine was, it was the smile that would do him in this night. And the innuendo.
"Waiter! I need the check. This woman is too amazing." John said. He had plans tonight, and they involved spanking her for being naughty. She didn't know that yet, but she would.
The waiter brought the check and he assigned it to his room at the Marriott. He stood up and if anyone else in the bar had been looking, they'd have been staring at the front of his pants, bulging. She certainly was. He smiled, and took her by the hand.
In the elevator, they were all over each other. He kissed her deeply, tongue probing around her mouth phallicly, and fondled her buttocks. When he finally stopped biting her lip, she pulled away and whispered into his ear, "I want you to rape me."
