You burst out of the door of the crowded bar five seconds after receiving Xavier's text: "I'm at the fountain at Third and Allenby. Come as fast as U can."
You don't wait to finish your drink or to say goodbye to your girlfriends at the bar counter. Their voices fade as the cold, bracing night air slaps you in the face when you exit.
Xavier calls, and you cannot wait to answer his call. You don't know, exactly, what is to come, but you know it will be wild, because earlier he told you to wear the short, red clingy dress, and flat shoes you could run in the streets in, and nothing more. Your breasts rock every which way as you run, unfettered by a brassiere; your ass cheeks bounce and sway with every eager step, unlined by panties.
There is no hesitation in answering Xavier's call. You imagine him waiting at the fountain for you in his long umber coat, hands in pockets, body still, face impassive, a lock of dark hair carelessly strewn over his forehead.
"I want you, pet," he had texted. "I need you. Now."
You run rather than walk through the streets to get to him. You know that to a passerby, an observer, you must appear ridiculous, but you do not care. Need impels you onward, as fast as you can go.
You turn the corner of an old bank building, and the fountain comes into view. Even now, late at night, water jets in thin vertical streams from the surface of the expansive pool.
Xavier stands in front of it, facing you, expecting you.
You slow when you near him. He seems taller than before, even more commanding and irresistible than the last time. Your pace slows to a tiptoe and at last you face him, your chest rising and falling from hurrying through the city streets.
He holds out a hand, silently beckoning you to him.
"You came," he says.
"Of course," you reply. "You called."
