Fifteen Minutes 3

Fifteen minutes late, April thought. Great. Fifteen more and she'd be free to go.

A friendly waiter approached. "Are you ready to order, ma'am?"

She stirred her water glass. "Maybe just the drinks menu?"

He nodded, "Right away, ma'am." And briskly walked away.

Wow, she thought. So we're really in the "ma'am" days now, huh? At thirty-nine years old, she'd hoped she had a few months left in her before people would catch a whiff of her rotting eggs.

It was infuriating. No one, not one person had called her "ma'am" before she signed those papers. Maybe the change was visible. Maybe people could tell now just by looking at her that she was damaged goods. She could sense it in her friends' reactions when she walked into a room-the dark cloud of "new divorcee" hanging over her head everywhere she went. It's not that she wanted to be in a bad mood all the time. That's just what happens when you wake up one day to see the life you've built up over the last 6 years crumbling into smoke.

She sipped on her water and glowered. Maybe he stood me up, she began to think as twenty minutes clocked in. She smiled at the thought. Ten more minutes and it may be officially socially acceptable to cancel and walk out, to text him, "I'm so offended!! never speak to me again." As if she really minded, as if she wasn't actually relieved.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed.

"so sorry! Traffic's a bitch. Be there in ten"

Damn it, she thought. He's really on his way.

It wasn't that she wasn't attracted to men anymore. If anything, she craved a man's touch-a hairy chest, a nice cock. But she wasn't particularly interested in getting to know their personalities. Their casual misogyny, their fragile egos. The conversations were more exhausting than any of the awful sex. And there was plenty of that.

Even though she ached for the feeling of a man inside her, the actual act was rarely like she ever hoped. In fact, after almost a year of half-assed head and painful clit-probing, she was pretty much over dating. The only reason she was still in the game was because of her ex's Facebook-seeing his stupid smiling face with his new girl, two-thirds his age with half April's education. One post could fuel her through several terrible nights.

Bzz, bzz. "Almsot there!"

April closed her eyes and fumed. Why did she do this to herself?

She didn't know anything about this man, except for the few photos Danielle had shown her. They were all the same, classic douchey dude selfies-fishing by the dock, sitting down on a beachside patio with a cocktail in hand, a long-distance photo scaling Half Dome, shirtless. A hat on his head in every photo. Hiding his bald spot, no doubt.

"Mark Handler," Danielle said right as their lunch break started, showing her his Facebook photo on her phone. "He's a friend of Sam's. Early forties. A software engineer. And a very eligible bachelor."

She scrolled to another photo-just Mark from the waist up, purple in the face, heaving a barbell off his chest.

"Oh yeah, and smoking hot."

April rolled her eyes. And self-obsessed, clearly. "Okay. I'll meet with him."

"Great," said Danielle, squeezing her arm. "I really think you're gonna like this guy. Just-keep an open mind, alright?"

Oh, yeah. April was great at that.

"Im here"

Damn. She had started to fantasize that he had gotten into some sort of accident. Not bad enough to hurt him, of course. But maybe bad enough that he'd have to pull over and call triple A. Don't worry, we can reschedule! And never follow up.

But no, he had arrived intact. She looked up to see him roll in through the door.

Literally.

He looked around the room, scanning the dimly-lit restaurant. The hostess leaned down to greet him.

April sank into her chair, feeling her stomach drop. Really, it was no problem, she told herself. She wasn't prejudiced. He was still hot. Of course she was cool with it. For God's sakes, she was a liberal!

Still, she thought, taking an angry gulp of her water. Danielle couldn't have mentioned the man was wheelchair-bound?

He looked up from across the room and spied her, waving a hand. She forced a smile and wiggled her fingers at him. He grinned, and started to wheel himself across the room, narrowly avoiding collision with a waiter.

"Sorry, fella!" the waiter said.

Mark shrugged it off and kept rolling along with surprising swagger. He parked right across from her.

"Hey," he said. "April?"

"Hi."

"I'm so sorry I'm late," he told her. "I got a lot of road rage, but I couldn't honk my way out of that rush hour congestion."

Her eyes widened.

"I'm kidding," he said, gesturing to his chair. "I Ubered."

"Right," she said. So he was a clown too. Awesome.

She scanned his torso-his big strong arms and his superhero chest wrapped tight in a polo shirt. The collar slightly popped like some seaside tycoon. She glanced down at her own black dress and heels. He could've at least worn a tie, she thought.

She finished off her water glass and casually glanced over at him, noticing something glinting beneath his beard. She squinted. There, hanging around his furry neck, was a silver chain.

Lovely.

The waiter returned, his eyes widening slightly, as if he too had started to suspect that her date would never make an appearance.

If only, April thought.

"Here's your beverage menu," he said, offering the booklet to April.

"Thanks," Mark said, taking it from the waiter before she could grab it.

Wow. What a gentleman.

Mark scanned the page for a moment, scratching his beard. "What would you like?" he asked her.

"Anything red," she said, shrugging. Anything strong.

"We'll do the '98 Merlot."

"Sure thing," said the waiter. "Now, are we going by the glass or by the bottle?"

"By the bottle," April said, a little too quickly.

Definitely by the bottle.

* * *

As the night wore on, she had to admit-the man wasn't half-bad.

He was balding like she suspected, and his forehead had one too many wrinkles for her taste. But he had big kind brown eyes, and he made her laugh, and he had an air of confidence to him that she certainly hadn't expected from a man in his shoes.

"So, Danielle says you're new to the city?"

"Yeah," he said. "Just bought a place on Sixteenth and Elm."

"Wow," she said. "That's a nice neighborhood. That's near Campbell Park, right?"

"It is," he grinned. "Right by my kitchen window. I got a great view of the park, the city skyline. You should see it."

Her eyes widened. He stammered, realizing how it sounded.

"No, I didn't... I mean, it's just a nice view."

She smirked. And a class act, too.

And sure, the way he ate his chicken was a little sloppy. But it was also kind of hot, the way he tore at the flesh with that ravenous look in his eye, like a hungry puppy.

"Aw, shit," he said, looking down at the grease on his shirt. "Look at me, I'm a mess."

"You're okay," she said, downing another glass of Merlot. Her eyes lingering on the dents of his nipples.

He patted himself dry, leaning forward, when the chain came loose from his neck, a dog tag clinking against his shirt buttons.

"Oh," she said, setting down the glass. "You're a vet?"

He looked up. "Oh, yeah," he said, slinking the chain off his neck and laying it on the table so that she could see. "Danielle didn't tell you? I was a Marine. Sam and I were in the same unit."

She nodded, feeling a little relieved.

So that's how it happened, she thought. She'd been wondering all evening how to go about asking about his chair, but had downed one too many glasses to do it with any tact.

Was he as intoxicated as he was? She couldn't tell. His face was flushed, but he still carried himself with the same confidence and sensitivity he had delivered all evening. If he was drunk, he certainly handled it well.

"So, what about you?" he asked. "How do you know Danielle?"

"Oh, we work together at my firm," she said. "She's been setting me up on dates like every month. Tryna get back in the game, you know? And my hus-sorry, my ex-husband is doing it. And I'm like, go for it! You know? If at first you don't succeed... try, try..."

Oh, God. She was definitely drunk.

He arched his eyebrows. "You were married?"

"Yeah," she said. "Have you ever-?"

"No," he said, shrugging. "I was engaged once, but..."

His voice trailed off. The playful vibe they had going for the last couple hours died instantly. An awkward silence hung between them.

"Excuse me," he said, "I just gotta run to the men's room."

She watched him wheel himself away.

Looking at him weaving through the tables into the bathroom, she couldn't help but wonder what exactly were the mechanics of that process for him. She imagined him emptying some kind of pee bag into a toilet, like a hospital patient, and suddenly the evening took a very unsexy turn. The guy was hot, but as she thought about everything going on down there, she felt her attraction wane.

The waiter walked by and asked if they'd like any dessert.

"Just the check, please," she said. She poured herself another glass, trying to douse the guilty feeling in her stomach.

But why should she feel guilty? She thought. She didn't owe this guy a thing. So what if she wasn't attracted to him because he was in a chair? That wasn't her fault.

He wheeled back over to the table as she drained the last drop from the bottle.

"Oh," he said, eyeing the check on the table. "You wanna wrap?"

"I think so," she said, mustering up her most sober smile. "I have work tomorrow."

He shook it off with a smile. "Okay," he said, pulling out his wallet. "Well, this was great. Let me know if you'd ever want to do this again-"

"Or see that view from your kitchen window," she added.

He chuckled. "Yeah. Or that. Just let me know."

"You know," she said, leaning in like she had a secret to share. "If I didn't know better, I'd say let's take a look at it right now."

"Oh?" he said, turned on by her boldness. He raised an eyebrow. "But you know better?"

"Yeah," she said. "I mean, with your whole-you know..."

She gestured to his chair.

Her sober brain slapped itself in the forehead from somewhere deep inside her.

He looked down, pursed his lips, and nodded.

"I'm sorry," she said, floundering. "I'm a little... I didn't mean to say that."

"No, it's okay," he said, his face saying the opposite. "I get it."

"It's just," she began again, leaning in before she could stop herself, "I was so nervous all evening. I was just caught a little off-guard when you came in the door. Danielle didn't mention you were..."

He laughed, clearly hurt, somehow shrugging off her stinging words with grace. "It's cool. I mean, I was a little caught off-guard too. Danielle didn't mention you'd just gotten divorced."

April frowned. "What?"

"I'm just saying," he said. "I know what it's like, when you're set up on a blind date with someone you didn't expect..."

"Well, what did you expect?" she said, her voice rising, accusing, demeaning. She could feel the other patrons' eyes wandering towards them.

"I'm just saying I would've liked to know if my date was damaged goods," he retorted, his voice rising to meet hers.

She scoffed. "Damaged goods? Please. Take a look at yourself, asshole."

She covered her mouth. The words hung still in the air between them, irretrievable.

"I think... we're done here," he said, withdrawing a handful of twenties so he wouldn't have to wait for the waiter to run his card.

"I'm so sorry," she began. "I can't believe- Here..." She rummaged in her purse. "Let me-"

"Don't," he said, raising a hand. She froze. "Don't bother. I'm good. My disability check more than covers it."

He slammed the bills down on the table and rolled out of the room.

April sat there burning, tears of humiliation beginning to well up in her eyes, her drunken stupidity melting away.

The sober voice inside her cried. out. What the fuck did you just do?

* * *

An hour later, April rolled up on the corner of Sixteenth and Elm. She looked around. There was the park, the nice brick walk ups. But which one was his?

She called him, her heel clacking nervously against the brake.

"April-" he answered, his voice gravelly, exhausted.

"Mark!" she cried out. "Please don't hang up again. Listen, I'm in your neighborhood. We don't have to talk. I have something for you. Just-please tell me which place is yours?"

He let out a deep sigh. "Fuck, April. It's after eleven..."

"Please."

She waited, breathless, listening for a sign. Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity-

"I'm in number 24, Apartment B."

Then he hung up.

April scrambled out of her seat, still a little tipsy. But determined. She scuttled down the sidewalk, the cold autumn air nipping at her bare legs. A short while later, she was in his hallway, her heartbeat racing.

He opened the door. Stripped down to boxers and a T-shirt, a beer in one hand.

Before he could say anything, before he could slam the door in her face, she held up his chain-the dog tag tinkling softly.

"You left this at the restaurant," she began, when suddenly her voice broke. Looking down, she saw his exposed legs peeking out his checkered shorts-two muscular thighs ending in smooth nubs at the knee.

His eyes widened. "Oh, God. I can't believe I left that behind."

"I just wanted to make sure you got it," she said, trying to keep from staring. She handed the chain to him. "I figured I should get it back to you tonight. So you didn't have to see me again."

He just nodded. "Well, that was thoughtful of you."

He lowered his head, and with a sense of honor she slid the necklace over his crown, down his shoulders, anointing him.

She stood there in the hallway for a moment. A couple seconds passed. A few more.

"Look," she said, mustering up a bravery she didn't know she had. Holding out her arms. Bearing it all. "I am damaged goods, alright? I was fucked up after my divorce. I'm mean, I'm judgemental, I distrustful-and-I never should have said that shit to you."

"You're right. That was pretty fucked up."

She winced. His acknowledgement burned.

"But..." he said, looking down at the dog tag on his chest. "I shouldn't have said that shit to you either."

The pain subsided. How could he be so forgiving?

"You were right, though," she protested.

"Naw," he said. "It was insensitive."

She smiled, her heart fluttering warm.

"So..." He looked up at her. "You wanna come inside for a sec?"

Her skin prickled with excitement.

She smirked. "And see that famous window? I'd love to."

He rolled aside, raising a gentlemanly arm as she stepped into the doorway, into his apartment, dimly lit by a few lamps.

It was nice, as far she could tell, if a little messy. The walls smelled like new paint-freshly coated in shades of blue.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked, strolling into the kitchen. She followed, her legs shivering with anticipation.

"I think I've had enough for tonight," she said, stepping into the doorway. Then her jaw dropped.

There was the city like she'd never seen it before, twinkling in the starlight, the glowing veins of the streetlights stretching out like a golden nervous system into the darkness.

"You weren't kidding," she said, stepping towards the kitchen counter, starry-eyed.

He slid beside her, chuckling, taking a sip of his beer. "I try not to oversell myself."

She looked over at him, his hairy arms, his massive shoulders, splayed out like a king in his throne. And suddenly, before she knew it, she leaned down to kiss him.

His lips met with hers, rich and warm, and she melted. With one taste, she knew he was a powerful lover, hearing him breathe in hungrily through his nose, his strong, rough hands running up her dress. She raised one leg over his lap and sat down on his groin, straddling him, leaning over his head, her hair falling onto his shoulders.

He placed his beer on the floor, the other hand going to pull a lever, parking his chair in place.

She looked up at his kind brown eyes and ran her fingers through his beard.

"I'm not looking for a pity-fuck," he said. "You know, I do actually get laid. Pretty often."

Feeling his strong arms wrapped around her waist, she believed it.

"And if you got a fetish..."

"Come on, Marine," she said, running her hands over his meaty chest. "Can't a girl just thank a guy for his service?"

He smiled, his sexy, slightly gap-toothed smile. And pulled her in for another kiss.

She grinded on him as their tongues caressed, feeling the heat radiating from his groin, running her hands across his muscled torso. Feeling his crotch swell up beneath her, rubbing against her panties. She whimpered.

He broke through their liplock to feast on her neck, and she moaned with delight, his beard scraping at her collar, leaving a trail of sloppy wet kisses, moving slowly towards her breast.

He pulled at her straps with bear claws, and she quickly assisted him, peeling the black fabric down so her tits tumbled out, her nipples fully erect. He grabbed her soft flesh, so tight it could bruise. But it felt so good, squeezed taut in his hands. He buried his face into her pillowy breast, sucking on her nipples, tough and sweet in his teeth.

"Oh, God," she said, feeling him milk her swollen chest, his callused hands running down to her thighs, sinking into her ass. She felt a dam break inside her, her pussy sleek and wet between her legs, her juices overflowing, leaking down her thigh.

She leaned back and caught herself against the kitchen sink, her eyes rolling into her head. She was so alive in his strong, reliable, hands, breathless as his mouth wandered over her body, savoring every inch of her skin.

She lifted herself back up and tugged at his shirt.

"Take it off," she said, aggressively.

"Alright, alright," he laughed, and he raised his arms, lifting his T-shirt over his head, his necklace slipping through the collar down his neck, landing on his perfectly chiseled torso with a thud.

She took him in, seeing his sexy brown eyes glittering in the dark, his body a mass of muscle and fur.

"Damn," she giggled, squeezing his deltoid. He started to laugh.

She scooted back, sinking her tongue into his navel, and immediately his laugh turned into a moan. She traced the tip of her tongue along his treasure trail, in between his washboard abs, into the crevice of his giant pecs, flicking his collarbone. The salt of his sweat on her lips. He groaned with pleasure.

She slid off his lap onto the tile floor, down on her knees. She ran her hands over his thighs, kissing his legs.

He chuckled. "You're not doing much for me there."

"Oh." She lifted her hands and looked down. "Is it... can you not feel that?"

"Not from here down," he said, lifting his underwear to indicate a southern region marked by a scar about midway up his thigh.

"Well," she said, smiling. "It's from here up that I'm interested in."

She dug her fingers into his waistband and peeled off his underwear, springing free his hard cock. He took a deep breath and leaned back, fully naked now, except for the silver chain around his neck. It might've looked douchey before, but now it was one of the hottest images she could imagine.

She looked up at his crotch-a mass of bushy black hair, his penis rock solid. It wasn't the longest dick she'd ever seen-maybe even slightly below average, if she thought about it-but she was overwhelmed at the sight of his meaty girth. She wrapped her hand around his member, but her fingers couldn't close fully. She looked up at him.

"Look what you got here," she said, teasing him, playing with his pole like a joystick.

He grinned at her. "Like what you see?"

"Oh, yeah," she said, rubbing her thumb over the head of his cock. She leaned down and opened her mouth, tracing his helmet with the tip of her tongue.