A One Night Fling Set In 1987

Marie Christine looked like her hot, provocative self. She should be gracing the runway of some fashion show rather than a nondescript bar catering to thirsty students.

"Jimmy, I haven't seen you for a bit," she said, greeting me like a long-lost friend.

"I've been out of town, but I'm back now."

"Will you be staying for a while?"

I detected optimism in her tone. I recalled how flirtatious she had been at our original meeting, but back then, Julie was the target of my affection. Now I was floating in uncertainty. Here I was, yearning for a girl who looked for revenge sex with a stranger the day after I'd left her while standing twelve inches away from me was the most unique woman I had ever met. Her uniform of skinny black jeans, white sleeveless top, and a black leather vest accentuated all her best attributes. With her looks and charisma, she could lure any man she wanted.

"If you had asked me a couple of hours ago, the answer would have been yes. But now I'm unsure." My answer came out with more of a smirk than I had intended.

"Trouble in paradise? Can I get you a beer?" Marie Christine asked.

"Does paradise exist? And yes, a Molson sounds great." My head still carried a buzz from the Jameson, but a beer chaser never hurt. I wondered how I'd got into this situation in the first place. Would I be placing a call to Miss $50 Tipper or throwing some sheets over the mattress in my van?

"Jimmy, your eyes are sad." Marie Christine reached out her hand to touch mine. Her tone was now more subdued, and her eyes somehow mirrored the sadness of mine. "My shift ends in thirty minutes. I could use a chaperone to walk me home. Can I count on you?"

The sincerity in her voice left me no option but to accept. "Sure thing." I cupped the draft with both hands, and my tortured fingers appreciated the numbing effect of the cold glass from tonight's shredding. Taking my first sip, I acknowledged that I could no longer savor light American beers after becoming accustomed to the more robust local offerings.

Marie Christine said her goodbyes to the remaining staff, and we headed out. I enjoyed watching the guys we passed give me a nod of approval. Never had I been with a woman that drew so much attention from others. Looking at her from behind, her stilettos accentuated her swaying hips, much like a runway model strutting across the stage. Her ass threw out a challenge to grab a moving target.

I had to ask, "How can you walk in those stilettos? Aren't they uncomfortable?"

"Of course, they hurt," she laughed. "If I wanted comfort, I would wear my Nikes. But Nikes don't earn me tips; stilettos do. Tell me you don't enjoy my shape."

"I enjoy everything about you," I said sincerely. I'd come to recognize that there was much more to her than an extraordinarily packaged outside. Under the leather, under the tattoos, there was a generous soul, looking to give her affection to someone deserving.

"Do you work out?" I asked, admiring her svelte, firm silhouette.

"Not as much as I used to. My old boyfriend was a competitive bodybuilder and we spent untold nights training. He molded me into a competitive fitness contestant. My height gave me an advantage over the shorter girls, but they had something that I didn't."

"What's that?" I asked, perplexed as to what she could have been lacking.

"Breasts!" She said. "I competed in a few events but observing the other participants, there wasn't a B or C cup to be found. To have a chance at a medal, like they say at McDonald's, I needed to supersize."

"How did that work out?" I asked, allowing Marie Christine to guide me through unfamiliar streets, lit by the yellow glow of streetlights.

"The tits stayed, but I moved on from my boyfriend and competitions and started studying to be an esthetician." She pointed to her breasts through her thin white T-shirt. "Do you like them? You certainly stare at them often enough," she playfully admonished my indiscreet ogling. Reacting to my uncomfortable expression, she said "Relax Jimmy. I enjoy the attention," she took my hand in hers, interlacing our fingers.

My face flushed red like a preteen caught watching porn. I was right--this girl had no inhibitions. Her hand was warm against mine and I could only hope my palms weren't sweaty.

"They're outstanding!" I replied in a tone that was far too exuberant.

"Really Jimmy? Are they outstanding or out-standing?" placing heavy emphasis to separate the second part into two syllables.

"I think a little of both. "I mused, joining in her amusement. "What else should I know about you?" I asked, smiling at her amusement.

She coyly smiled. "If we're finished discussing the girls," she continued "I graduated from an esthetician school and moved to Montreal. I was a small-town girl in a big city, with no friends or family. One night while eating a burger at a pub a couple of blocks from where I'm working, I asked the owner if he needed any staff. He didn't but was kind enough to refer me to the bar. I've been there ever since."

"Was the pub owner named Jacques by any chance?" I inquired, throwing out the name of one of the few people I knew in this city.

"Yes, it is. Do you know him?"

"Best burgers in town," I replied. "Jacques let me play for tips when I first came to Montreal. It took him a little time to get used to me, but now I think we can call each other friends."

"Jacques looks like he could be a wrestling tag team partner of the Rougeau brothers or André Le Geant, but he's a marshmallow inside. At least for me, he is," she smiled.

We continued to walk up Saint Laurent, passing many graffiti murals along the way. Finally, we arrived in front of a two-story walk-up.

"This is my place," she said. "Come upstairs. I have something which might impress you."

When she'd taken two steps up from me, I asked "More impressive than what I'm looking at now?" I asked flirtatiously.

She turned back and laughed. "Yes, Jimmy! Even more spectacular than my ass, if that's possible!" She gave me a seductive look that would cause an instant erection in any straight guy.

As we entered the apartment my eyes were drawn to a stereo setup and two display cases of albums. I was like a kid in a candy store. "Wow, a Technics 1200 turntable, Marantz amp, and J.B.L. speakers. I'm impressed."

She looked at me with raised eyebrows. "I'm stunned you recognize these components. They must be over twenty-five years old."

"As well as music, my dad gave me an education on stereo equipment. Do you mind if I go through some of your albums?" I was already heading toward them, not waiting for confirmation.

"Sure, have a ball," as she followed my path toward the records.

"This is quite the collection. Some of these are valuable." I told her.

"When my parents moved from our two-story detached house into a condo, my mom insisted my dad give them away or they would end up in the trash. She wasn't taking this junk to the new condo, she said. So, I volunteered to take it all off their hands. My dad still comes over occasionally to listen to his favorites."

Leafing through the shelves, I appreciated her father's taste in music. The artists included David Bowie, The Doors, Jimi Hendrix, Traffic, and Cream.

"Do you ever listen to them?" I asked.

"I mostly listen to the radio, cassettes, or CDs." She replied.

I mulled over her comment before I replied. "In my dad's day, records and the radio were the only choices. With the introduction of reel-to-reel. With cassettes and now CDs, I feel we are moving in the wrong direction. From the liner notes to the song order, to the album cover design, it was all meticulously thought out. Now we are starting to move away from this to provide more flexibility. But what we gain in flexibility is often offset by a lower quality experience."

I stopped rifling through the stack of albums to gauge Marie Christine's interest in my thoughts. "Look at this album cover," I said, holding up the triangle prism image of Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon. "You must admire its power and simplicity. You can't create that connection from a CD case. I fear we are moving into a digital revolution where zeros and ones will replace the pure quality of analog recordings."

Marie Christine moved closer, her delicious scent of freshly baked cookies circling my nose as she placed one hand on my shoulder as I flipped through more albums.

"I never really thought of it that way," she said. Her breasts were now grazing my back as she leaned over my shoulder, making it difficult to focus on the records.

"You speak with a lot of passion about these records. OK, close your eyes and tell me who's singing," she challenged me.

With my eyes shut, I could hear Marie Christine flick through a selection of albums and place a record on the turntable. I heard the recognizable click of a stylus meeting vinyl spring from the floor-mounted J.B.L. speakers.

I've heard people say that we've shared love and made love.

"It's the unmistakable voice of Barry White," I said without hesitation.

"You're right!" she laughed. "This was my parents' 'let's make love' album. I grew up knowing my mom and dad would be fucking like rabbits whenever this record played on the turntable. I'm surprised the needle never wore through the vinyl through overuse."

I watched as my sexy partner gyrated to the music. With her eyes now closed, she removed her vest, throwing it on the floor. Her hands roamed over her thighs, her belly, and upward to her breasts. Earlier her attitude had been playful before, but now it was sensual.

As the song continued, Marie Christine approached me, wrapped her arms around my neck, and jumped up, wrapping her legs firmly around my waist. I instinctively grabbed her ass to support her as she moved her black-painted lips toward my ear and whispered.

"Take me to the bedroom and fuck me."

Marie Christine's legs scissored my waist so tightly that holding her ass to support her was unnecessary. When Julie had thrown herself at me, I'd resisted. I feared getting too involved and hurting her. Or was it my fear of commitment that held me back? I had been a loner for so long that accepting another person into my life seemed foreign to me, but the impact that Julie had on me was like no other. I couldn't just fuck her and leave her. Now Marie Christine was offering me an experience like my past sex-capades as a touring musician. This would be unemotional, unattached sex. Right now, the offer sounded enticing.

The thought of this unbelievably sexy woman rocking my world was something I couldn't turn down. I had little doubt of her sexual prowess. Her manner of dress, enhanced breasts, and tattoos were all testament to how she embraced her sexuality. Her sensual teasing increased her attractiveness to a whole different level. I was intrigued as to what lay below the surface of the steamy hot woman.

As Marie Christine peeled off her crew-neck top, she turned her back to me and revealed an expertly drawn three-headed dragon inked on her skin. This was the masterpiece she'd referred to previously, Gilles's handiwork, Marie Christine's childhood design. When she moved, the dragon heads came alive, almost like an animation. The outer heads rested on each shoulder blade while the middle head crept upward to her neck. Each dragon had a distinct eye color. The heads on each shoulder blade displayed white razor-like teeth, while the middle head focused on searching for the next prey. There was no doubt they looked like hungry carnivores. I couldn't help thinking that I could be their next meal. Would Marie Christine ravage my flesh? Were these pets Marie Christine's metaphor for her inner self? I didn't know. If this would be my Custer's Last Stand, at least I would die a happy man.

The three dragon necks met at a singular body, and a long thin tail coiled its way down to her tailbone. The design made her shoulders appear broader and her tiny waist more tapered. She turned, and through the hazy light of her bedroom, a script was visible above her pubic bone.

"What's written there?" I asked, admiring her body like a highly hormonal teenage boy secretly flipping through his dad's Penthouse magazines.

"It's in French, but translated, it says, 'Ecstasy awaits those given entrance'. You, my friend, are not only allowed to enter but required to." She hoisted my shirt above my head, not bothering with the buttons, and feverishly stripped off my pants and underwear, never giving me the option of resisting.

"Fuck me, Jimmy. Fuck me like you haven't had sex in months," she said breathlessly.

No acting necessary on my part, I laughed to myself. The room was dark, except for a glimmer of light from a streetlamp that shone through the open window, casting a faint shadow on the far wall. Our silhouettes would provide erotic excitement for any voyeurs who peeked through the opening. The scent of lavender candles permeated the room.

Foreplay was not on the menu this evening. Marie Christine wanted to go straight to the main course. She had a hunger that needed immediate attention. I started to move slowly, but Marie Christine's hands on my ass pressed me forward, demanding a quicker tempo.

"Faster. Harder!" She shouted out, without concern for the thin walls of her apartment. I had been with many women over the years, but none were as voracious as her.

"Harder, Jimmy!" she demanded.

She lay naked beneath me, a vision of beauty and sexuality, the body of a goddess. Her eyes remained closed, trying to direct all her senses to the center of her being, to her sacred temple, the place directly below her tattooed script. My eyes stayed open, relishing her moans and grunts while hovering my torso over her and pressing my muscular arms against the mattress. Her legs intertwined with mine, like a boa wrapping itself around its victim. The harder I pounded against her, the more she seemed to enjoy it.

This wasn't about love or passion. It was about raw, primitive, primal sex. Her long, manicured nails left their marks on the soft flesh of my ass, and scratches on my back. Her chest heaved up and down while her hips ground and matched my every thrust. A guttural scream erupted from her lips that would scare any person passing outside the window.

At that exact moment, an explosion erupted from deep inside me and traveled throughout my body. My weary and spent body fell onto Marie Christine. I could feel her rapidly beating heart thump against my chest. Our bodies, wet with sweat, glistened in the darkness. The script was accurate: 'Ecstasy awaits those given entrance'.

With our breathing normalizing, I rolled over onto my back to give Marie Christine some space, but she wasn't looking for separation, and she nestled her head between my arm and shoulder. I was only too happy to hold her close to me. We had just shared a moment in time that would be forever engraved in my strangely wired brain. Intimacy was not something I was good at, yet there was something special about this sex kitten that dwelled beneath her outlandish exterior. In this position, we fell asleep.

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, I was forcibly rolled over. The scratches on my back acquired during the height of sex had become painful as they rubbed against the sheets. My cock ached from the friction of the earlier lovemaking, but now it pulsed again under the skilled hand of an unsatiated lover. Marie Christine straddled me and guided my already rigid shaft deep inside her. With her hands on my chest, she rocked up and down, entirely in control. My cock acted as a sex toy for her pleasure, but her moves generated carnal gratification for both of us.

We never spoke during this brief sleep interlude, but I knew the exact moment of her orgasm. Her body shook as if subject to an electroshock event while her fingers left imprints on my chest. At the conclusion, she again nestled herself into the crux of my shoulder. Sleep came as quickly as she had.

I woke up to the sun beaming through a slit in the curtains. Marie Christine was no longer in bed. The sex had been fantastic, and she'd touched every part of my body--except my heart. I realized that belonged to Julie. I'd returned to Montreal for a reason, and I wasn't prepared to give up. Marie Christine was a special person, and I would welcome her into my life should she be willing, but Julie was the one I wanted, for now, and forever.

I dressed and joined Marie Christine at the kitchen table. She wore a robe gently tied at the waist but left a good portion of her breasts uncovered.

"Breakfast, hon?" she said, looking up from the Journal de Montreal newspaper.

"Just coffee, thanks," I replied. "I want to thank you for last night."

She placed the newspaper aside to focus on me. "I should be thanking you. You were an animal in bed." She replied. She had a sparkle in her eyes as she took a sip from her coffee. She appeared ready and willing to go for another round in bed.

I had to be honest, reflecting that last night was more than casual sex. There was an undeniable connection between us, but she was not my future. Julie was. "Yeah, the sex was fabulous, but at the same time, I now have clarity."

Marie Christine focused on my eyes. Her posture changed, becoming a little more guarded.

"I hate when men have clarity. Often, it's followed by, 'I have a girlfriend'," she replied with obvious disappointment in her tone.

"In my case, it's true."

Trying to turn lemons into lemonade, she chirped back, "No problem, invite her along for a ménage a trois. I've always enjoyed a three-some."

She delivered the words in a cheery tone, but they failed to mask her genuine disappointment.

"I don't think that's her thing. Up to now, we have never had sex."

"Well, she doesn't know what she's missing." She now accepted the situation and rolled with it.

"That lady of yours, whoever she is, I hope she appreciates you," she replied.

"Marie Christine, you are a strange and wonderful person. Any man would be lucky to share their life with you." I was leaving a woman who wanted me then and there, to convince another woman that I wanted to be part of her life. Shouldn't things be easier than this? I got up and headed towards the door.

"Jimmy," she called my attention, "there's always a seat at my bar or a place in my bed for you," before blowing me a kiss goodbye.

"I will accept the reservation for that bar stool. As for the place in your bed, I can't make any promises." I replied and let myself out the door.