This story is a collaboration with SiteNonSite. This is the first chapter of a series. I hope that you enjoy the beginning. There have been a few edits since the original posting.
And as always I encourage you to take the time to read all of SiteNonSite's stories, if you haven't already.
Impact Of Collision
"Ohmygodimsosorry! Ohmygod! I'm such a... let me!"
She looks panicked. I've soaked her. She's not wearing a bra.
"Please, I can fix this," I promise. She had been sitting next to me at the little bar, her with her date, me with mine. I'd been listening and admiring her first-date patter while I waited for my date to arrive... and as much as I could after he'd come. She is way more interesting than the finance bro I'd saddled myself with for the evening.
I had turned to stand up with my glass when our table was ready but hadn't expected her to be getting up at the same time. I doused her. We were facing each other, both looking at her dark nipples showing through the sheer silk of her shirt. The horror on her face mirrored my own. Thank god it was rosΓ©.
"Trust me," I plead as I pull her towards me so my chest is blocking any view of hers.
"May I have some napkins and a pint of seltzer?" I ask the bartender, who is a lovely older blonde. She understands and snaps into action.
Seltzer in hand, we pushed past a girl waiting for the restroom.
"Hey!"
"We'll be quick," I lie.
I usher her into the little bathroom and catch myself starting to kneel. I have to force myself to just dip my knees and stoop. We exchanged a look. Did she see what I did?
I dab at the stain with the seltzer. The rosΓ© is bright pink against the cream silk; the seltzer is making it all more see-through. Her nipples are oily-looking through the silk. I am flushing with shame.
"Disaster," I apologize.
She untucks and pulls her shirt away from her chest, allowing me to mop it with the napkin more easily. Again I fight the impulse to kneel.
'Stop it!' I think.
"You're Sarah?" she asks, making me look up in surprise. "I heard you introduce yourself to your date, I'm Claire."
"I know," I admit. "And you're a curator, which is the coolest thing ever!"
"Sounds like your date is as interesting as mine," she laughs. "But yeah, I work in a gallery in TriBeCa - 'curator' is inflating what I do. I'm more of an overblown 'gallery girl' still."
"Well the artist you're working with sounds amazing," I tell her.
"Sophie," she says absently. She's looking over at her reflection.
If it weren't for her hazel eyes, which are warm and kind, I might describe Claire as an icy blonde. Her long thick hair is pulled back tight into a lovely loose bun, and her face is beautiful, perfectly made up. More makeup than I wear, but not too much. She looks elegant and mature in a way I can only dream of.
"I'm so sorry for wrecking your date," I tell her.
"Yeah, don't be, he sucks," she laughs. "We couldn't even get to our table and he was already talking about Ayn Rand."
"Mine too!" I blurt. "I mean, Bitcoin, but same thing right?" She laughs, which makes me feel good. Her laugh is light and feminine. Like Audrey Hepburn. Seriously elegant.
"I mean I knew it was coming as soon as I set eyes on him," I blurt, "but fuck!"
I'm nervous and babbling, but whatever.
"Well I think your John Gault is better looking than mine," she tells me. I must look as clueless as I feel because she smiles and explains, "That's a character from one of Rand's books, John Gault."
"Oh. I've never read her, I just know what I learn from awful dates."
Claire narrows her eyes at me, sizing me up.
"I
like
you, Sarah."
I feel myself blushing and look down at my work. I'm pleasantly surprised by how well I've done getting rid of the pink.
"May I?" I ask before pushing my left hand up into her shirt, palm out. There is a stack of cottony white paper towels on the counter, and I begin drying the shirt using my hand as a backer.
"This was a pretty elaborate ruse to get into my shirt," Claire quips.
"Yeah, uh, well, uhh," I stammer, "this is as far as I've gone with anyone on a date in a long time!"
"Me too!" she says, as we share a nervous laugh.
I finish drying it as much as I can before pulling my hand out, the back of my hand accidentally brushing against her stiff nipple.
"Ohmygod! I'm so sorry!" I blurt out.
The shirt falls back against Claire's breasts, it's no longer transparent, but her nipples are tenting the damp silk. They look oily, dark, and now... stiff.
"Looks like the girls are awake," she says, looking down at herself. "I can't go out like this."
'This is all my fault,' I think. I look away, feeling my face flush anew.
"Do you want to tell me more about the show you're working on?" I ask doubtfully. "I mean until they uh... go down?"
I can see my reflection in the mirror, I'm beet red. Claire is tucking her blouse back in.