Happy Birthday . . . Baby

"Ohhhh BaabbbbAAAAAAAABBbbyy," she cried with each thrust.

She couldn't say she, knew, him, but, "Ohhhh BaabbbbAAAAAAAABBbbyy," she cried.

Never seen him before. He came in at midnight.

She began descending into Midtown when her husband's practice began ascending out of New York to Tucson a week a month. She never dabbled more than once a day nor dallied more than a week a trip. She ended each day of her sojourns clubbing in the Village.

She ducked in her favorite early for a strategic, quiet-end seat. Near panic-bar fitted stage-doors, next to a 150 gallon, fresh-water aquarium throwing a wavy, aqua-marine glow over the back booths and tables, she was comfortable just out of the aquarium's glow. She liked to watch little frogs leap at ghost shrimp and bat snails under watchful patrols of one red Beta, magnificently fanned, gliding above.

She lamented the aloneness of that Beta. She read it as loneliness. She learned of Betas. She came to the conclusion that animal was so violent he had the best life he could hope for in that place: guarding his aquarium from above.

She was permitted by the Bartender to feed him when she arrived. He showed her where the flakes were, just behind the near, outside corner of the aquarium, within easy grasp on the way by. She tapped the glass as she arrived. This was a very smart Beta. It only took three trips before he responded to the tap, and then followed her finger along the glass to the place of feeding. When he got to the place she wanted, she shook in flakes: he dined. She was not the only source of food for this Beta, just additional. She did not name him. Just trained him.

She rocketed into Manhattan on the Saw Mill and knitted her way into the Village off the Westside Highway. She loved that drive. She never lost her fascination with the City. As Queens developed outside her windows she remembered her first, her fiftieth, her last trip. Careening along the Hudson, crossing the Harlem, she was in Manhattan, where all slowed, through a palisade of shear walls cut by an unending, fitful undulation of seething traffic, snaking along the river. She was a romantic and sought positive when possible, but was intensely aware of hidden .32's, switch blades and danger in hearts of some, behind city walls, in shadows, looming ahead.

Speeding past White Plains she remembered her first trip's sunset, guilt ridden, but determined; or, her thirtieth, full of excited anticipation. She remained amazed how different this cityscape looked on the way in from the way it struck her on the way out. Expectation can be a terrible thing. She disabused her soul of expectation on the way in, but life was not perfect. She experienced disappointment from time to time on the way out. She usually crossed the island as day broke over Hudson's misty haze, in morning's cool dampness, having left a lovers bed, heading to hotel, or home.

She was the well-conditioned, 56 year old mother of 2 grown children. She carried a pistol. Today it was her Phoenix Arms HP 22, LR. She served as a nurse. She learned during that time, extant in the world, were at least two types of people: those who had pulled the trigger, and those who had not. She had, on a dark city street, late at night, far, far away: never talked about; never forgotten; never re-lived; eventually forgiven. She won and was alright with that. So was her husband who encouraged her in this regard. He felt it supported exclusivity. He never understood the independence it represented. He never understood he never understood. She was comfortable with that. It was a crack.

That night, her training took over, and from a dark, distant, empty street, as he fell, she just walked away. She got used to secrets after that. Her trips to the Village were secret. They helped define her to her. They provided aspects to her life that embellished all others, as a lover embellished, as a child, a husband. From her vantage she could assess members of the crowd as each entered. The Bartender acknowledged her, but nobody introduced themselves. This was the big tent, and all knew it.

She was in her blind, having her last Scotch, when he walked in. Her scan fixed. He was armed. In a prior life she covered the door of an after-hours club in Iowa. The Club offered fully nude women as dancers paid to entertain or as customers if they wished. Bars selling alcohol closed at 2:00 AM and by 2:30 the After-Hours club filled to the gunnels. After 2 all were drunk, many armed. Working the door and observing security frisking customers she learned how to spot a weapon. It was more to do with how one carried oneself than with any bulge, but once the carriage peaked an interest, the bulge, somewhere, became evident, quickly. It was a self-preservation thing. She had always been amazed how many weapons walked through this door unchallenged. The Doorman did not frisk and purses were not checked. From the point of view of weapons, this place was uncontrolled: hence her presence. All was good. She knew, he had no idea, maybe, but: "OhhhhBaabbbbAAAAAAAABBbbyy."

He was six feet she thought and guessed 185 lbs. Boxer's build. Very short, white hair. Tightly cropped white beard. Large, all seeing, deep blue, very young, eyes. He shook the Doorman's hand as if they knew each other well. He appeared to know no one he passed on the way to the bar and was greeted by the Bartender with a smile, a hand shake over the bar, and a double shot of Glenlivet, up. He did not sit or lean as he surveyed the crowd, sipping his Scotch. But he did survey. Intently. Not for anything in particular. But he did survey. Intently.

There were 28 patrons, one Waitress, the Doorman and the Bartender. The Bartender was always the same. The Waitress changed. The Doorman changed. Once gone, gone. She was aware of a firearm concealed on each of two males at the bar. The night had been calm, and she hoped of him the same. Her sojourn was to be over in a few hours as she intended to check out at sunrise, scoot thorough the Lincoln Tunnel and spend the day working her way northwest antiquing to Skaneateles in the Finger Lakes to meet her husband for Filet Mignon and romance. They returned to the place of proposal each year at this time. Same room. Same Vintage. Same view.

His survey complete, he walked over to the aquarium and standing just in the glow reached behind the tank to the Flakes. He shook some into the tank. The Beta did not seem to respond, so he shook in more. She observed this and approached. From the shadows, without saying a word or making a sound, she moved her index finger along the glass. Beta followed. Boxer watched. She led Beta to flakes as Boxer watched, and Beta fed. Boxer moved into shadow and said, "You know this Beta."

She did not reply. She just moved closer. He said, "Never seen you here before." She moved past him and lightly touched his gun, tucked under his left arm. He was shocked, and felt a flush of violent reaction, training taking over, but realizing she had just gotten the drop on him, backed up and checked to see if she was telling him something. Absolutely flustered, he asked, "May I get you something?"

"No, got to go. I will be at the Hotel on the corner in half an hour. Ask for Jean if you get there within the hour. Otherwise, later Babababaaaby," she said with a wry smile, and was gone. He watched her disappear as she swept out the door. He looked back at the Beta. He thought out loud to Beta: What was that?

Beta continued to feed as if no one had spoken to him. "I've been to that Hotel." Beta continued to feed. "I don't know the Doorman, but may know the Concierge." Beta didn't care. Flustered, he tapped the glass and Beta continued to feed. Beta was to be of no assistance, so, he receded into the shadows and sipped his Scotch, watching the crowd, listening to the music as he contemplated what to do. He was free until noon.

She set up candles her first night. Upon arrival to her top floor suite tonight she lit each along her path as she wandered from door through meeting area, to Hot Tub. She caught a glimpse of herself passing the mirror between bed and Hot Tub. She paused, unbuttoned her blouse and flung it over the Japanese screen separating bath from Tub. As she looked at herself, she undid her brazier. Flinging it over the screen, she looked at herself. She undid her belt, pushed her pants and panties to her ankles, and flung these layers over the screen. In Stiletto heels she looked at herself, nude.

She liked what she saw, but kicked her left shoe off, at the mirror. She had a flash of her husband looking at her. She did not like being looked at by him tonight. She did not understand why, tonight, but the last time they were together, she took off her clothes for him, and he just ignored her. She touched him with her left breast as he brushed his teeth, and he just silently moved out of the way.

She dropped his boxers to the floor and he just stepped out of them, never missing a stroke. She cupped his shaven testicles with her right hand and lightly ran the fingers of her left along the separation of his buttocks to the crease of what she called his "pop-over butt." He did not seem to mind, he did not break rhythm of his brushing. He did not seem to care.

God dam it, she cared. Touch was important to her, and she was going to touch and be touched in something other than some sterile, hermetically sealed, limbo of self conscious conceit. She wanted him to look at her. To be fascinated with her labial folds, with the viscosity of her vaginal secretions as she aroused and met his touch. Tender human contact was important to her. She was not to live without it.

As the Hot Tub filled, bubbled and roared, she drew a bath. Laying in the warm bubbles she shaved her labial folds, smooth as the day she was born, her legs, long, conditioned, smooth, soft. She moved to the Hot Tub as her bath emptied, and slid in, quickly adjusting to a delightful shock of heat. Finding New Age on the sound system, she turned down the jets a little and drifted delightfully.

She arrived in Manhattan three days ago. She visited a woman she came to know at Grand Central who tended bar overlooking the concourse. They had been lovers once. The person told her of the little bar by a theater in So Ho. This is where she met the woman who was to come to the Village tonight. She had looked forward to see her, but, things are as they are. She increased the heat with one hand without opening her eyes, and decreased the jets with the other and began dreaming of her unrequited when she was brought back to the present.

Feeling a presence, she opened her eyes. Boxer was standing close, looking at her. She invited him in. He took off his cloths as if he were getting ready for a photo shoot. He was fastidious. He shook his coat and hung it on the back of the nearest chair. He undid his shoulder holster from his belt and took it off laying it on his coat. He shook his shirt, his pants. Folded his trunks, socks and black undershirt. His shoes were placed under the chair upon which he placed each item. She enjoyed his performance. He was perfectly conditioned. Beautiful. But unlike many other of her conquests, he was fury. She never understood why an adult male would shave or wax every inch of himself, but in her experience, most did. She was delighted her partner tonight was natural, but closely, not smoothly, cropped in his crotch and pubic areas.

When nude he looked in the mirror, feet spread slightly, touching himself, as if showing himself to himself, and then looking at her, held himself in his hand and lifting, showed her his testicles, contracted by a very tight scrotum, beginning an intense arousal as he stroked from testis to erection. She watched his performance and touched herself under the bubbles. His erection grew, hardened. He came closer to her, and she reached to him. She grabbed him around the waist, hands at the small of his back, as she leaned on the edge of the tub, swooshing water over the side.

She drew him to her and licked the head of his erection as he gently knitted his fingers into the hair at the back of her head, and lightly drew her to him as he thrust into her throat. He watched himself in her mouth, then withdrew, and watched her take a breath, looking at him, and then deep within her again, and again, and again, and again, and again. He felt his head crashing into the back of her throat. He didn't force, but when climax exploded he did not let her withdraw, exploding deeply within her. She drew him deep, and grabbed each hip hard and held on. When she felt quivers of his back subside, she lightly pushed him back.

He watched the withdrawal. She licked him until he was completely out of her, touched his relaxing testicles, and holding them up, kissed him gently. She released him with a push, as much to extract herself as to move him. Boxer took a step back and she stood up. Boxer held out his hand and she taking it, helped her out kissing her right eye, nose, lips. Seeing her breasts for the first time, he cupped them with both hands moving behind her, touching full length as they glided the few steps through the candle lit room to the comforter covered divan.

She had been in the City four days, visiting her favorite masseuse, George, her favorite book store, the Strand, and hanging out at Grand Central. She'd attended two off, off Broadway shows, and had drunk much too much. She was generally lucky with lovers she picked up on her sojourns, and this trip was good in that regard. Tonight she intended a woman met last night at the last play she attended but she did not show at the Aquarium, hence, Boxer.

Boxer was ripped. Boxer had very slim hips and a tiny waist. He was just slightly taller than she and probably weighed less than she originally thought, closer to 160. He had her from the back and she grabbed both his wrists as he fondled her breasts as they moved. They were within a foot of the bed and she thought, time to play. She felt him not erect, so, time to play. She heard him calmly breathing, so, time to play. She felt him completely relaxed, so, time to play.

He didn't seem to notice her grasp, being consumed by her breasts and lightly biting of her neck. She was certain he would not be hurt, the bed was just the right distance. He was relaxed enough. In one motion, she twisted both his hands out and up, while dipping under and stepping to the right ducking under his arms to the right she was behind him and in control.

Releasing his wrists she stepped around him and pushed him into the bed, he tripping over the edge and falling just where she wanted him, face down, on his hands and knees, completely at her mercy. He did not resist. Knowing she had him, he just fell forward onto his face in the pile of pillows at the end of the bed and awaited her next move.

She watched him fall with satisfaction. She trained that move and was gratified it worked. She had him now. What to do with him? She leapt onto the bed and straddled him at the small of his back. He was spent so she needed to recharge him. He was crushed so she needed to rebuild him. She reached to her night stand for her massage oil, and filling the depression of one palm, she dripped the warming soothing substance along the center of his back. Then rubbing her hands together quickly she started with his shoulders at his neck. She worked deeply into his very tense muscles between his neck and the end of his shoulder, again and again, until she felt them relax a little. Then she brought her hands from shoulders to center of back, down his spine two inches, then out to his ribs, then back, then out until she reached the small of his back, then as if pushing large loads up a hill, she pushed, with both hands up his back on both sides of his spine to his shoulders, and did it again.

In a few minutes she felt him yield to her from shoulder to waist and she bounced to the side. She rolled him over. His eyes were barely open but he watched her every move. She spread his legs and sat between them with her legs over his thighs placing his beginning erection along her labial crease, on her clitoral mound, feeling his testicles resting on her smooth, soft inner thighs. Her hands still moist from the oil, she slid up each of his sides to his chest and tweaked each nipple until erect.

She felt him harden. She pulled down along each of his well conditioned sides to the small of his back and using the strap of muscle running from hip to hip, pulled herself over his erection and one delicious centimeter at a time, inserted him full length to his eye closing deep moans. Once fully within her, she sat on him full weight, and then with a gymnast's perfection raised herself to almost out, back to completely in, almost out, in, out in, watching him disappearing into her pleasure, as she began to quiver in the first orgasmic throw of the night. As her quiver subsided she slide up along his ripped wash board stomach until she could feel the slight tug of his head and she slowed her ascent to a stop before letting him out of her completely. Once he was out, she laid on him full length and he rolled her over. He was within her again, and in control, "Ohhhh Baaabbbb AAAAAAAA BBbbyy," she cried with each thrust.

Screaming up I 81 North, she called her husband and, getting his voice mail, said, "Happy Birthday baby. See you soon."