Disclaimer: It's fiction, people. Enjoy.
I was not nervous, nor apprehensive - matter of fact, all I felt right then was an intense inner excitement of what could, might, would happen over the next hour. At first, when she'd actually replied to my response to her poorly-written ad on a big-time e-dating site, I was pretty dumbfounded. It had taken a lot of work, and utilizing all my stalking skills to actually locate the already-removed ad in the first place, but in the magical cyber world, she'd seen my post to her ad. I'd had several days now, to get a grip about the fact that she'd agreed, eagerly even, to come out and meet me.
I had linked her to one of my online hookup profiles, where I'd been evaluated as "the last man on earth", according to my lengthy answers to a personality/sexuality test. That must have been the kicker for her, that and possibly the fact that in my ad there, I was clearly seeking MEN. I wasn't sure really of the exact thing that grabbed her, maybe it was nothing more than a real desperation to connect with someone. And despite the fact that she'd traveled the world a hundred times over, I knew that I was like no one she'd known. She must've gotten that idea too, why else would she fly 2000 miles to have dinner with a virtual stranger?
The next thing I knew, I was walking past the guest services desk at the Ritz-Carlton, stepping onto an elevator en route to the suite she'd said she'd be in on the fourth floor. I had a bouquet of dark purple tulips clenched in my fist, not thinking of how very clichΓ© it might be to her - getting flowers. But now, here in front of the door, I was flooded with a definite feeling of awkwardness.
What the hell am I doing?
Mainly I was thinking this, because I'm just not into women. But I still harbored a core belief, or maybe just a fantasy, that she was probably enough of a man for me, even when she'd worn those Versace gowns on the Golden Globes.
She was waiting. I felt her right on the other side of the thick door, even though she waited two minutes after I knocked before she opened it. Inside, I was crazy-grinning, but I managed a cool expression as I attempted a humble nod and held the flowers out to her. "Hi. How are you?" I heard myself speak and was immediately wishing I'd said one of my many practiced greetings...but none of them had come to me when I was face to face with her.
"You're shorter than I thought. Come in."
She stepped back from the doorway and let me enter. I might have felt an unexpected shyness, but she certainly didn't.
"So where is this place you're taking me again? The food better not suck or I'll sue their fucking asses. On second though, fuck that. Fuck dinner - take me to a club, Curt."
She cracked a strange smile then, I watched her face as she said mostly to herself now, "God that sounds weird, saying that." I was pretty sure she meant the name. She hadn't taken the flowers from me; I set them down on a long table that was near the door, and pulled myself together enough to attempt initiating conversation.
"We can do that. I'll take you to an awesome place. But first, I just have to let you know that, I'm really, really glad you came out here. Thank you, again...maybe I'm not your ideal match, but I promise you a night you won't forget. I mean that in a good way, Courtney."
She had a cigarette between her lips and waited for me to dig my lighter out. An open bottle of
Maker's Mark
was on the table where I'd laid the flowers down, and after I lit her smoke she grabbed the bottle and took a decent swig straight from it. Her hair was smooth, recently brushed and shiny straight - not the tousled mess she donned in so many of her punkish videos. Her makeup was heavy though, thick lines of black on her lower and upper eyelids, and enough concealer under them that it was evident she was trying to cover dark circles. Her lipstick was a classic blood-red, just as thick as her eyeliner. She almost looked like a drag queen, which was actually very appealing to me. I knew without the heels she was 5'8", and she surpassed me with her heels by a good 2 inches. She lowered the bottle and grinned a little, and said "Well fuck, Curt, you're probably my last option as far as meeting someone compatible. That's gotta make you feel pretty fucked up, knowing that you fall into the 'less than 2%'. Aren't you gonna try to fuck me?"
Shit!
She didn't waste any time, did she. I had tried to prepare myself, figuring that I'd be meeting someone who was probably a good deal more outspoken and blunt than myself, which was something I'd had very little exposure to. In any given situation that involved the possibility of sex, it was me who said and did the bold or unexpected. Being on the other side of this now, I asked myself if I should be honest, or try to remain cool and pretend that fucking her wasn't the first thing on my agenda.
I stepped up to her then, and took ahold of her wrist. Close enough in her face to kiss her, I said, "Oh, you're damn straight, I'm going to. I was just doing my best to be a gentleman until you got comfortable with me. I'm guessing, you're comfortable enough?"
I didn't let her answer; I pressed my mouth to her waxy red lips. My hand left her wrist and she raised her arm, grabbing onto my side. She kissed me back, too. Her too-long French manicure dug into my ribs, and her tongue licked over my teeth. It was a kiss hot enough to make me feel an instant wetness under my arms, a bead of sweat dripping down either side of me. For someone not into girls, I was impossibly hard for her. The taste of the expensive liquor in her mouth had a hot tang to it. I wondered if she was buzzed, or if she sincerely wanted me to fuck her. I was going to find out.
I pulled away, out of the hot kiss and she let me push her backwards, stepping a few feet back to the huge bed that was in the center of the room. I right away began to undo her top, it had some sort of weird latch in the back at the nape of her neck. As I fumbled she said, "What the fuck buddy, this top is a fucking Gucci, don't fuck it up."
She went with me as I leaned into her more, pushing her down onto the bed. "Fuck that, fuck your Gucci...buy a new one." My thigh slid up and between her open legs, and I kissed her hard again. In all of my notions in the past, picturing how I'd behave if ever so lucky to be in close proximity with her, this was not what I'd planned. But it was either what she's expected, or what she wanted, because she went right along with me, yanking her skirt up and showing me that she had nothing on underneath it. Perfect Courtney MO, certainly. She grabbed onto my ass with one hand, and humped herself against my thigh. She squeezed my leg tightly between hers. The heat was astounding. My mouth ventured to her neck, that she stretched out and offered to me readily, and I bit at her there. Tiny nips not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to make her growl out several
fucks...
and grind harder against me.
Her hand slid inside the back of my pants, and she raked her nails over my skin there. Right then, she decided to demonstrate her actual strength, and used her other arm to push me off of her, and hold me against the plush bed one-handed. She fiddled with my fly saying, "I hope you aren't full of shit, like every other guy. I hope that you have the fucking ability to fuck this bitch right, and that maybe you're not just a pussy-boy faggot after all."