One Night and a Future

Alexandra inhaled deeply, took another sip of her wine-red wine tonight, as if that would make a difference-and was startled.

"It's Alexandra, isn't it? We met in this bar, oh, about a week ago. You're in banking."

The guy was George and he did something in advertising, she remembered. "Well, I'm a bank teller." She giggled, Yes, there is a God.

He sat down on the stool next to her at the bar. And they talked. She accepted his offer of another glass of wine. And then he said the magic words.

"Would you like to go somewhere else? To talk? This place..."

Isn't this what she wanted? Respite from the loneliness of being a stranger in the city.

* * *

They both liked musical shows, but better on TV than going out to a noisy theater. He had remarked that her one-room studio apartment was "comfortable." They were both "cat people." Dogs are too demanding, she offered. And this was enough commonality for a Saturday night. Saturdays were supposed to be filled with ecstasy and over-the-top memories before the despair of Sunday night and the dread of work beginning again tomorrow.

Then he was on top of her, perhaps with her unspoken invitation. She didn't know how to orchestrate a one-night stand, and she felt a bit of surprise seeing their clothes lying in a tangle on the floor. She admired the fact that George wasn't too hairy, and his body was toned. She surrendered to his experience, saying some little nicety about his body. She placed one hand on his neck, not wanting to act possessive.

"You're not too bad yourself," he said drawing his hand down over her breast, pausing to tweak a nipple. The touch felt good after so many months of never touching another human, let alone a man cuddling her entire body.

"No," she said. "I'm too tall. Kids called me gawky in school. But I was a good basketball player." She worried he wouldn't find her breasts large enough, that he'd be turned off by her small nipples.

"I'm taller than you." The hand slid down her stomach and twirled around her belly button.

"Not if I wear high heels. I mean, really high.

"Then we'd have to lie horizontally in order to see eye to eye," he said softly, burying his face in her stomach. His mouth gently kissed its way down to her loins and she inhaled deeply as his nose nuzzled the hair in the V of her pudendum. Was he really going to put his mouth there? Was he that enamored of her or some kind of pervert? Could a man really put his lips on that place between her legs and enjoy it?

Her body jerked as she felt his tongue warp itself around her clit, enter her vagina and seek a way up inside her. So this is what it felt like! The electricity the books hadn't told her about.

This had to be a sign of trust. He trusted her enough to want to taste her insides. In turn, she had to trust this still-stranger enough to let him explore her body cavities the way she had only done in the shower before now.

Tentatively, she grasped his cock-a sign she reciprocated his trust-then abruptly put her lips to the smooth tip. It was salty, it was slippery, it was a man's most private part and the miracle was that they were sharing their bodies. Two were becoming one.

He slid over on top of her stomach and used his hand to move his dick up into her, probing and pushing-but gently-to find an entrance. She arched her hips to help him, inhaling his woodsy aftershave scent as a part of being captured by a male hunter. He had impaled his quarry.

Christ, she wasn't a virgin, but this was only the third man she'd let into her body. Then he was deep inside and clasping her around the waist to pull her more tightly against him. How long had it been since she held a man to her stomach and breasts and felt him work his way up to her womb?

After a lingering kiss, in which she sucked his tongue into her mouth, he began moving his dick deeper up her canal. She knew she was getting slippery and there was a kind of-well, call it enjoyment, she thought. It was Saturday night and she was being fucked. Isn't that what's supposed to happen?

And there was a lingering curiosity of how deep he could go, how long his cock was, and whether he could reach all the way to her cervix. This was a wondrous thing developing inside her ever so slowly.

Still, the weight of him on her stomach, crushing her breasts as he sought traction with his pumping dick, and his fingernails digging into her butt were-what? Distracting. It could only be a minute or two longer and he'd cum into her, they'd both take deep breaths and say "That was nice," then she would go to the bathroom and wash.

Then she'd ask him if he'd like a glass of wine with her-red or white?-and he would or not before leaving her. She still had a book to finish reading. She had underwear to wash.

It was more than a few minutes and time stretched to infinity. He was gentle, but insistent and offered a little variety in his motions. She told herself to enjoy the feel of that warm meat massaging her innards, tickling her-and, Christ, he was so far up inside her. Not like the last time with the boyfriend so long ago who wasn't a boyfriend really. That one had jammed himself up a few inches, moved himself so fast, and then came abruptly in less than a minute.

George was going and going and... Then she felt the welcome magic of an orgasm building, first in her belly and then up to her breasts and finally exploding in her brain and closing down all thought. Her heart beat wildly and a little cry escaped her mouth. She was coming coming coming.

Her fingernails gripped his shoulders like an eagle's talons and she gave in to the power of the force.

* * *

When she returned, wrapped in her terrycloth bathrobe, George was sitting, still naked, on the edge of the bed. One hand nervously picked at an eyebrow.

"What's wrong?" She sat next to him, put her hand on his neck. Could she claim it was also "her neck"?

"Thank you," he said. "I don't know how to say... I haven't seen many people. You're the first woman..."

"What do you mean?" He had a fine neck. A good haircut. Alexandra would describe him-if she told anyone-that he was handsome.

"My wife passed away. Six months ago." He turned to look at her with eyes that were distant and unseeing. "I felt she betrayed me when she died. When you're missing someone, the entire world is empty."

She thought for a moment. "My world was empty until tonight. And if this is the last night, the only night, so be it. But thank you too."

"Friends told me grief would end. That I'd find someone new. But people can't be replaced like car parts."

"No," she said thoughtfully. "But we're all alone, each of us, except for a few moments when a spark is lit, when something happens."

"Would you like to have breakfast with me? I could leave and come back to meet you?"

She inhaled deeply. It had already been Sunday morning for a few minutes. "Would I be presumptuous, out of line, if I suggested making love again? I mean, you don't have to..."

"I could. I'd like that."

"Then we could take a nap. I'd hold you in my arms until you're asleep, knowing I'll still be there when we wake up."

He laughed. "Then breakfast. Together."

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