A Not Quite Love Story

What can you say about a twenty three year old girl who died? What is left to be said about a girl who withered away into a shell of the person she once was before finally succumbing to death? What eulogy can possibly bridge the gap between sorrow for a girl long dead and the indifference that keeps me moving forward in this life? Are there no words that can repair the damage of the slow rotting disease that took that girl from me?

No. There are no words for a twenty three year old girl who died. There are only shadows of a memory of a not-quite love story.

*

"I'm more than just tits, you know," she told me while looking me dead in the eye. Of course I blinked. There I was at my wife's party trying to be the very picture of a friendly and gracious host and she catches me off guard with an off handed reminder of our previous indiscretion. "I have more ambition than your wife or my sister. You'll see."

If that wasn't a warning, I didn't know what was. Of course I didn't even acknowledge her. Actually, I didn't have to, because my wife came over just then. I wish to hell that things didn't happen in slow motion; I might possibly have been able to save our marriage if I could have kept her from using the martini glass as something other than a projectile. How she managed to salvage her political career after that was beyond me.

It didn't seem like a stripper's apartment. It's funny the random things that float through your head in unlikely moments. By unlikely, I mean improbable. By improbable I mean, you won't believe me if I told you. And by that I mean it was very surreal when I smiled affectionately at the blonde whose name I didn't know when she blew me a kiss. Somehow I managed to not look at her breasts pushed up over her tank top. And what I really mean by that is her top was pushed down underneath her cleavage so that those breasts jutted forward with a singular mission of seduction. And I still didn't look. How unlikely a fiction is that?

And how did my best friend manage to get away with already having his dick deep in the pussy of the other stripper on the couch the night before he was getting married? As it turns out, he wouldn't get away with it.

I don't remember what I said to my stripper as I left. Something useless and banal like, "Have a nice night," or "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." It doesn't matter anyway because that beautiful woman is merely a shadow of a not quite love story. Which brings me close enough to the beginning of the story (if stories like this ever actually have a beginning).

"You know I have Levi's bachelor party, tonight, sweetheart," I said to my wife. She was busy adjusting the obnoxiously over-sized, garishly red gardening hat on her head while I patiently waited the 6.7 seconds it takes for my Keurig to happily beep my coffee was ready. "I don't see how I can make it up state for your debate and then back in time."

Cheryl scoffed. My wife, the red hatted Republican of Buffalo, New York, managed to not look at me as she gathered her files and tablet and her garishly red office bag. "Well, Scott, would you find It in your busy schedule to honor two requests?"

I wondered if she noted the subtle hardening of my jaw line. I wasn't her bitch and I hated when she thought she could talk to me like I was. Sure, she was the all influential State Representative of Buffalo for three running terms heading for a forth. Fortunately by then, I was already drinking the calming elixir of caffeine and I managed an appropriately diplomatic response. "What?"

Cheryl stood at the door, all of her attention squarely focused on me. Didn't I feel special? "The first is to please just do your best to make it."

"Sure."

"And then, remember your promise. No strippers."

I smiled. I didn't smile to disarm her with a sense of guile. There was no need. I had not arranged for any strippers at Cheryl's previous request. I smiled because Cheryl still managed to surprise me from time to time with an adorable and human sense of jealously that stirred a need within me to wrap my arms around her. "No strippers, honey. Just poker," I said.

"Good," she said, turning to leave. "It's an election year and I don't want to deal with another scandal, again."

My mistake. The thought of strippers didn't strike a chord of envy. Nope. This was the calculated mind of a master politician making career moves across the chess board. I wasn't her bitch. I was her fucking pawn. At least that's what I told Levi later that night.

"I'm getting married tomorrow fucking morning, man. Stop being a buzz kill," Levi said. He had just mucked his cars yet again. I never really knew if Levi was even good at poker, but he sure loved to play. I really think he hated the game itself, but he loved leaning back in that cheap chair, smoking cheap cigars and drinking cheap beer while the rest of us tried to play as seriously as we could and take each other for every poker chip we had.

Cheryl wouldn't let us play for money. Shit. There I go being a buzz kill, again. And with Levi getting married tomorrow ... I was an ass. I couldn't help myself as I checked my hold cards and threw in a couple of chips. "You're right, man. Congratulations, Levi. Cheryl's a good woman. I'm a good man. We have a marriage with some rough spots but it's a good marriage. I hope you and Lucy have a future as bright as mine."

I don't think Levi heard a word I said. He leaned over to Bob who was also playing at the table. "Man, he checked his hold cards. He doesn't have it. Go all in."

I didn't have it. I was bluffing. Throw a guy a bachelor party and apparently he suddenly knows everything. "Look at you. Watching some poker on ESPN 2," I said.

"Yup. For almost three hours last night. Know what else I watched? Well, I don't know what it was called, but it was on Skinemax and there were boobs and ... now that I think about it ... isn't this a bachelor party? Where are the boobs?"

"No strippers," I said.

Four hours later, I was driving Levi home. The car was quiet and I was feeling guilty because I really hadn't done my best to make it to Cheryl's thing she had up state. Hell, I'm not sure I tried at all. Hell, I don't even remember what she said it was. Maybe it was tomorrow's wedding on the horizon, but I was resolved to be a better husband to my worthy wife.

"Take a left over here," Levi said.

"You're not going home?"

"Nah, it's bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding. I'm staying at a friend's."

What friend? The alarm in my head was buzzing, but not loud enough that I didn't follow Levi's directions to the Whitestone Park Apartments. Who the hell lives here?

"Come on up," Levi said. "Let's have one more beer."

"Sounds good," I said. And I wanted to know who this friend was.

A moment later, Levi introduced me to Lynn and Candace. Candace was a stripper that one way or another happened to know Levi well enough to be willing to let us into their apartment for a special show. Lynn, apparently was Candace' sister, who worked at the same strip club as Candace. I wondered how long Levi had planned this out. He must have believed me when I told him repeatedly there would be no strippers at his bachelor party and more, that he had to do something about it. He must have thought of enough of our friendship that he wanted to include me on his Plan B of a dalliance. What were friends for, I suppose.

I realized even being here was a failure of my resolve to be a good and decent man in the interest of having a good marriage with Cheryl. Just the same, it was a short mental trip to rationalize that lots of faithful, decent husbands are entertained by strippers to rev up the ole sex drive before going home and burning up the race track of molten hot marital sex. Of course, I didn't think lots of guys were entertained by strippers in their apartments.

There are certain situations a guy can get himself into that just sort of happen. A few minutes later, with Lynn grinding on my lap, I chalked this up as one of those situations. I was sitting on the couch and she was straddling me, gyrating in all the right ways. I was grateful that she kept her short shorts on as well as her tank top (at least so far). I closed my eyes, stretched out my arms on the back of the couch and decided to relax. The strippers had decided that Pink Floyd was as good as anything to get down to, and I let myself go to the tunes.

God, this girl ... what was her name? Lynn? She was hitting the right notes. Her gyrations had found the length of my cock just right through the bulge in my jeans and she started an easy back and forth rhythm. It was so easy to imagine her naked pussy stroking my bare cock in a hot, wet camel toe slide. Could I cum that way? Of course I could.

This girl was really turning me on, and I couldn't wait to get home and give Cheryl the fucking of her life. If she asked what was up, I would just tell her I was moved by the whole impending wedding thing.

My arousal was expressed through a man of steel hard on and a slow steady breathing. Levi was more vocal in his appreciation. "You have stupendous tits. So fucking hot. That's what I'm talking about. You're tits are amazing." Well, he wasn't the most eloquent guy, but at least you generally knew what he was thinking. It was hard to not glance that way and take note of the action in the recliner on the opposite side of the living room. Candace was completely naked (no, wait ... I could make out a bikini thong) and shoving her breasts into Levi's face (much to his delight).

My stripper, Lynn, seemed to take advantage of my eyes being open and she slipped out of the straps of the tank top to push down the top below her breasts. For my part, I was still leaning back like this happens every day. In retrospect, I'm not sure if I was trying to play it cool and not be that excited sophomore that cums far too fast. I do know for certain that at that point, everything was catching up to me. The alcohol buzz was wearing off. An unfinished pizza next to an overloaded ashtray suddenly caught my eye. I started thinking being there was a very bad idea and that it was time to leave.

But what to do about Levi?

On cue, Candace let me know that Levi was just fine when she let out a loud, x-rated scream. Lynn and I both looked over to see Candace riding Levi's cock up and down with the fury of ... well, it looked like anger sex to me. Only during anger sex, your best friend normally didn't give you a thumb's up accompanied by a ridiculous grin.

I tapped Lynn on her thigh. "I should go."

She didn't argue or debate or try and seduce otherwise. She stood up, escorted me politely to the door and held it for me.

I looked back one more time. Levi didn't seem to mind that I was leaving. I was sure he'd be enjoying a threesome in a moment. How did he manage to get away with this?

At that moment, taking in the living room from a wider perspective, I took note of the three bookshelves filled to capacity with books. On the coffee table was a stack of notebooks. On top of the notebooks was a laptop. Suddenly this didn't look at all like a stripper's apartment. These were college girls.

What was I supposed to say on leaving? Thanks? Have fun with Levi? Don't do anything I wouldn't do? I'm very thankful I went with something practical. "So, uh ... do you need to be paid?"

She bit her lip in an effort to be polite. "No. I'm good. We're good."

That's when I saw the elf, or fairy or sylvan creature tattooed on her shoulder. It entranced me just long enough for me to stand there a bit longer to drag out an already awkward moment. At least I wasn't gaping at her breasts. "So, have a nice night, then." She blew me a kiss and I left.

Later that night, as Cheryl and I fucked, I was thinking of Lynn. I couldn't really remember what she looked like. Perhaps I was too drunk at the time. Perhaps I wasn't really paying attention. All I could remember was that tattoo. It was just a face of a girl with long and pointy ears and long, green hair. Right there on her shoulder. Nothing special. Not that great of a tattoo in my opinion. I didn't have a fetish for elves. But as Cheryl reached her orgasm, that fucking elf tattoo was all I could see.

I began to power thrust, trying to shake off the image. I also knew I was unfairly pissed off with my wife. It was a tense beginning to the day. She spared no words when she told me how disappointed she was I didn't make it upstate. And then when we started our routine of make-up sex, I found myself hoping she would slide her pussy over my cock camel toe style. Nope. She slid the condom on and here we were.

She growled her appreciation like she always did after she came. Grabbing my ass, she was urging me to cum so hard. Like most times, these days, it just seemed like an effort to get me to hurry up and finish so we could be done.

... "so, uh ... do you need to be paid?" ...

"Give it to me."

... "No. I'm good. We're good." ...

"You're going to cum for me. You're going to cum for me."

Purple eyes. The elf had purple eyes.

I came.

The next day came and went along with Levi's wedding. So did the weekend, and another week and another. Purple-eyed, green haired pixies became a haze and Cheryl and I resumed our once a ten-day or so sex schedule.

To be clear, Cheryl wasn't a monster. Perhaps she was politically obsessed and our marriage would always take a back seat. I also wondered if she was having an affair on me but it was just an unfounded gut suspicion with no suspects. But our marriage was not on the brink of disaster. We still had dinner. We made time to hang out. And we always did the grocery shopping together.

Wouldn't you know, it was a month later at BB-Mart during a shopping trip that I next met Lynn. I probably could've never met her again in my entire life. And if I had, I might not have recognized her. But fate had a different design because as it turned out, Cheryl knew her.

"Lyndsay," my wife exclaimed. I turned to see who she was addressing. A quick glance didn't register the young blonde before me and I was about to turn back to browsing the Blu Ray releases when I caught sight of the purple eyed pixie peaking at me from her shoulder. My stomach knotted. I was certain I wasn't going to get busted here for a minor indiscretion but it made the moment no less awkward. In fact, my mind was already buzzing with ways to recover if the cat got out of the bag.

Lynn (or was her name really Lyndsay?) spared me a look and I was sure she recognized me. Honestly, I was one face out of all of the strangers that are her customers, so perhaps she didn't. I wouldn't have recognized her if it wasn't for the tattoo. Just then, I started to feel like a heel for being just another guy who objectified women.

"Hi," Lyndsay said warmly. "I'm sorry. I don't remember your name, but I remember I used to babysitter for your sister."

Looking at her for the first time (or so it seemed), I realized she must have been ten years younger than I (give or take). Her blonde hair, if that was her real color, was tied up in matronly bun, unlike the first night when it cascaded down to middle of her back. Lyndsay had no more visible tattoos I could discern, but she did have a collection of piercings: three in one ear and two in the other with each ear gauged but not to an obnoxious ear lobe deforming size, a silver post in her nose and her tongue. Was she a good kisser? I tried to study the curve of her breasts through her shirt without being obvious, a skill that men think they are geniuses at but assuredly are not. Suddenly I had a flash of a memory of what those breasts looked like naked. I'd like to say I felt a twinge of guilt, standing next to my wife and everything, but I didn't.

What I did feel was an immediate regret that I wasn't paying attention to the conversation she was having with Cheryl. Suddenly, I heard my wife say, "It's settled. We'll see you at the barbecue on Saturday."

Lyndsay looked at me and shrugged and strolled off to finish her shopping.

Before I knew it, it was Saturday and our house was crammed full of guests floating between the downstairs and the backyard. I couldn't honestly say if I was keeping an eye out for Lyndsay or not, but once I spied her, I kept tabs on her. I was actually surprised that Cheryl invited her along. Obviously she knew her decently enough, but Lyndsay was a little more bedazzled with piercings than our usual crowd. Our usual crowd was the constituents that helped Cheryl to get elected again and again. I was thankful our usual crowd didn't include Levi (apparently his vote wasn't good enough for Cheryl).

Cheryl had of course tried to sell me on the idea that this barbecue wasn't politically motivated, but she was wearing that giant red hat that had become a symbol of her campaign through the years, and that told me loud and clear she was locking up votes. I don't know why she was so adamant to tell me this was about recreation. I had no problem with the idea of business and pleasure mixing to a point. Ah, well, each to their own.

Like I said, I was keeping tabs on Lyndsay. As I did my expected mingling in the manner of all good hosts, I noted that Lyndsay was doing a fine job of mingling herself. She seemed to have no problem going from stranger to stranger and striking up light hearted but brief conversation. At one point, I snorted in derision, thinking how she must be networking to score some new clients. That of course was a completely unfair thought, but it's not like I voiced it aloud. Actually, if I was being honest with myself, I was becoming infatuated with Lyndsay. The memories of the lap dance had exploded back into my memory, only now I had a face and a voice. Of course I knew her face and voice before. I just hadn't paid attention.

The barbecue had been going on comfortably for about an hour or so and I had managed to make small conversation with each of the guests at least twice, except for Lyndsay. I was making a point to avoid her. Unfortunately for man through the ages, a person's better judgment is a feat of focused willpower. After speaking to an old friend about the game on Sunday, my willpower lost focus and I made a bee line right for Lyndsay.

"Hello. Enjoying the barbecue?"

"I am," she said. She was polite and looked me in the eye, but I had no clue if she recognized me. I suddenly felt like an idiot for I was certain I was wearing a "Hey, remember me" sort of smile.

"Make sure you try the ribs. They're delicious," I said. What the hell. Did I have a smaller version of myself inside my head hitting an idiot button? Not that it should matter. I was merely being a good host. It wasn't like I had plans to seduce this girl. I could feel the focused willpower of better judgment kicking in again. I smiled and turned to walk away to continue to make the rounds.

"I'm more than just tits, you know," Lyndsay said before I could take more than a half step away.

"Pardon?" I knew I heard her right, but how could it be possible she said that? As shocked as I was, I was also on a base level pleased that she had remembered who I was. I was so pleased, I didn't even let her answer my query. "I know you are. From your place, I'd say you were a college girl."

"Psychology major. So is my sister. We both work the strip club to pay the bills. It's a living for now."

"Sure, world's oldest profession," I said. It was a horrible joke and I regretted making it the second after it left my lips. Fuck, my better judgment was in need of an overhaul.

"I'm pretty sure that's prostitution," she said.

I questioned the assumption I had that Levi had paid these girls and had sex with them both. Perhaps they were merely meant to be strippers and he got lucky with Candace. Before it could sort out completely in my brain, I was back peddling and stammering. "I'm sorry. That whole night was weird. I didn't know we were meeting you guys that night. And we were at your home. And Levi was getting more than a lap dance. I didn't know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."