Will was waiting for her at a table on the sidewalk. She turned the corner, a half block from the diner, and saw him looking around, his face lighting up when he saw her. He waved, but she kept her hands jammed in her pockets.
"Hi," he said, standing as she approached and holding a chair out for her. She sat and he pushed the chair in after her.
"Can I see it?" she said.
He reached into his pocket and retrieved an envelope, folded in half. He smoothed it out and slid it across. Northwestern Medical Center the envelope said. She tore it open and pulled out the piece of paper folded inside. A photocopy of his driver's license was on the front with his vital statistics and billing information. She saw the date of birth. He's thirty-one, she noticed, right around where she'd guessed. She scanned to the bottom. The results were clear: Negative for all sexually transmitted diseases, hepatitis, and HIV.
She folded the paper and slid it into her purse. "Thank you," she said. He nodded, smiling. She saw he was dressed much as before, light blue oxford dress shirt with heavy starch, red tie loosened at his neck with the top button undone, navy blue suit pants, and a matching navy blue jacket draped over his chair.
A waitress appeared, handed them menus, and took their drink orders. He ordered a bottle of Lite, Diet Pepsi for her. Then she turned back at him, raising her eyebrow but saying nothing.
He seemed embarrassed. "I'm sorry," he started. "You think I'm some kind of stalker or something. It's just that, well, you know. There was more there."
He was right, of course, but she could let him know that. She couldn't let this get any further.
"Are you going to say anything?"
"How much was the test?" she said.
He shook his head. "I don't care about the test. I want to know if I'm right. Was there something more?"
She sipped her soda, trying to dodge the issue. "Why don't you slow down a little," she suggested. "You don't even know me."
He took a swig of his beer before speaking. "Okay, you mentioned a babysitter. Do you have children?"
She smiled. "I have a little boy. Brandon. He's three now." He pursed his lips. "Scared yet?" she said. He shook his head. "No, it's not that. I just, well, I guess I never thought about it until you mentioned a babysitter. Didn't seem like. . . ."
"Like something a hooker would have?"
"You're not a hooker. You're. . . . I don't know. Different. But not a hooker."
"Just because I don't stand on the street in skimpy skirts, charging fifty bucks for a blowjob, that doesn't mean I'm not a hooker. I'm just an expensive one, which is the only kind I would be until I don't need to be one anymore."
He said nothing. The waitress came, took their order, and left. Still he didn't speak, so she spoke for him.
"I know you want to ask, so go ahead and ask." He looked at her, and she said, "Okay, I'll ask it for you. 'Why?' Right? That's what you want to know. How does a single girl with a little boy decide to do it."
He said nothing, but his eyes told her she was right.
"Because there's no other way for me to make money, pay for my school, and support my child. That's why."
"Where do you go to school?"
"I'm in the pharmacological program–the last year, thank God–at Wisconsin/Madison."
He raised his eyebrows. "A pharmacist? At Madison?" She nodded. "But that's three hours from here."
She nodded again. "Exactly. So my chances of ever running into a client are between slim and none."
"Then you live in Madison?"
She shook her head. "I'm not telling you that. Where I live." His face told her he was going to push the point, so she headed him off. "Listen Will, you're a great guy. Smart, handsome, sweet." She smiled. "Great lover. But we can't date. You don't want to date a hooker, okay?"
He shook his head. "No, you're wrong. You could give it up."
Her eyes flashed anger. "And do what? Feed my baby how? It's not that easy for all of us, Will. Sometimes you make choices, do things you never thought you'd do. But you do them because you have to. You have to so you can get a shot at something better. Something better for me. Something better for my boy." He reached over and placed his hand on hers, but she jerked it away. "No, don't. The problem's that when you make those choices, you give up certain things. You give up chances. Chances like coming here, to the Big City, and taking up a career. Chances like dating anyone because they'll get jealous and get in the way. Don't you see that?"
He shook his head. "But no one would know," he said.
She laughed. "Don't be naive," she said. "They already know. Can you imagine me going to some firm get together with you? Running into two or three clients? They'd laugh at me. Maybe not to my face, but they'd laugh. And they'd laugh at you, too. And that would probably be to your face. You'd be done."
He sat back, looking down at the table in front of him. His voice was low. "You're right."
They said nothing until the food arrived. "Come on," she whispered, "I'm starving. And I've got a train to catch."
He nodded, and they ate in silence. He walked her to the train station, and she let him hold her hand. But she turned a cheek to him when he leaned over to kiss her goodbye.
Watching the train pull out of the station, Will realized she'd never answered his question. Was there something more there?
* * *
David stood in the shower, playing through the whole scene again in his mind. He played it through in his mind, on the picnic table, exposed to the world, Aimee trying to comfort him, then allowing him to use her to channel his rage. She'd done that, all right. She'd gotten off on it, too. He was getting an erection at the thought.
She was beautiful, he realized. Fifteen or so years younger than him–mid-twenties tops–with short-cut red hair parted off-center and falling straight, fair skin with light freckles, and bright green eyes. She had an outstanding figure, too: Short, maybe five three, slim hips, and small breasts, pert and pokey with quarter-sized areolae. She looked so pure and innocent, young, not yet jaded. Yet he saw her last night, watching something that would send him purple with fury. He couldn't quite read her reaction. Was it curiosity? Sadness? Was she unconsciously turned on watching her husband fuck another woman? Probably a mixture, he figured.
Aimee was nothing like Cynthia, though. Sure, Cynthia was also beautiful, kept in shape, and had a great body, but she was different. His wife was older obviously, but still young enough to turn the heads of any post-pubescent male she passed. She was also more experienced, liked it rough sometimes, and was always ready with a devilish smile, a blazing look of desire that he knew only too well.
With that, his erection died. He missed her, and he wasn't particularly happy about that realization. Was some of this his fault? Maybe, he realized, he wasn't satisfying her the way he had. Maybe he was spending too much time at the office and not enough time with her. Still, he didn't want her back. He needed to move on, and he realized he could never do that with Cynthia back in his life.
But how? How the hell was he going to move on? He thought about it long and hard as he finished getting ready for work and drove to the office.
By the time he booted up his computer, he still had no answers. And before he knew it, he was again lost in his world of security codes and encryption.
* * *
By the time Aimee awoke, the sun was beginning to beat down. She wanted to close her eyes again, knowing that in only two weeks she'd be starting another school year when lazy mornings in bed would be restricted to weekends and holidays.
"Good morning, Sunshine," Tim said.
She rolled her head. He was on is side, hand propping the side of his head, staring at her and smiling. She smiled back.
"Mornin' Sweetie," she said.
Under the blankets she felt his hand reach over and brush her hip. He raised an eyebrow, stroking back to her ass and cupping a cheek in his hand.
What am I thinking? she thought, leaning over and brushing her lips against his. Morning breath and stale coffee wafted around her nose, which only aroused her further. His schedule made it difficult to make love during normal hours. As a result, when they managed to find the time to make love they did so in the morning, before either brushed their teeth or showered. This used to turn her off, but she barely noticed now. Instead, it triggered her body to what was coming.
He pushed her over and leaned in close, now stroking the flat of her belly. His lips lowered to her and kissed, his tongue darting out. "Frisky?" he whispered.
She only murmured in response. She ran her bare hands over his chest, tangling her fingers in the coarse, curly hair. He was muscular, his pecs ripping hard and his stomach washboard flat and toned, and she felt his hard physique through her fingertips.
His hand ran down her belly to the mound under her panties and pressed, his finger reaching out and rubbing her slit through the thin cotton. She felt her clit hardening and reached for him through his boxers.
He was already hard. He was always hard, she thought, her legs parting and hips rising to meet his finger as it ran the length of her. And he was always gentle, but apparently only with her. She heard his soft intake of breath as her fingers reached under the band of his boxers and grasped his cock. She squeezed, stroking him and feeling his hips pumping into her hand. Images started racing through her mind. He's bigger than David, she thought, but David was more forceful, more urgent than Tim had been almost since they first started dating in high school. She felt herself getting wetter and more aroused at the memory of David, and she wondered if there were marks on her bottom where he'd slapped her. She still felt tender there, but she knew she wanted it more rough.
She wanted it, she now knew, more like Tim gave it to all of them.
She pushed into him and broke their kiss. "I want you to fuck me hard," she said, looking into his eyes.
His smile vanished and was replaced by–what was it? Doubt? Surprise?
His hand stopped rubbing her, and she pushed her hips upward toward his hand. But he'd stopped and was staring at her.
"What did you say?"
She smiled. "You heard me," she said, licking her lips and pumping his cock faster. "I said I want you to fuck the shit out of me. Now. I don't want you to be gentle."
