My insides felt like a black hole. A star that had burned too brightly, exhausted its energy, doomed to collapse endlessly in on itself until nothing, not even light could escape.
You already know the story. Sandra and I met at a writing group I belonged to. She only ever made it to a few meetings, but I was hooked right from the start. She was a tiny, pixyish girl with shocking red hair and bright green mischievous eyes. There was an amazing chemistry between us right from the start. She obliquely asked me out the first night we met; we went out for drinks that week and ended up spending the night at her apartment. The sex was good, delicious, and pretty much nonstop. We became inseparable. I moved in with her. And then slowly, almost imperceptibly, things started to suck.
Enough became enough. In the end it was mutual. We had our obligatory fights and make-ups, tears were shed and promises made and all that was over now. I moved the last of my stuff out last Friday; I was staying on a friend's sofa until the first of the month when I could move into my own apartment.
Start to finish: less than twelve months.
And now, just under than one week since we had said our final goodbyes, I was meeting her for a drink. To talk things over, to start becoming the friends we had always said we would be if it came to this; to wallow in what had once been love and what might have been two lives joined together into one. To cry into my beer and then to go home and depressingly masturbate myself to sleep.
It was barely eleven o'clock in the morning on a sunny Thursday in June. Being chronically underemployed has its advantages. I knew Sandra had called in sick to work. We met at a bar she had suggested out in Williamsburg called Shelter Island. I'd never been there before. It was dark inside, with some sort of nautical theme going on, kind of a faux-working class aesthetic. It seemed young and hip; too young and too hip for me. 'Please God,' I thought, 'Please don't let her be introducing her new girlfriend to me.'
Sandra was there, looking sprightly in a little black skirt and a top I hadn't seen before; shiny black stretchy fabric emblazoned with the mock-scowling image of a samurai. Her almost comically tiny Doc Martins and a precious little black choker completed the ensemble. I felt gawkish and underdressed in my jeans and plain blue t-shirt. What had she ever seen in me anyway?
She gave me her patented big sweet smile and ran over to hug me close. My breasts pressed against her smaller ones, triggering a thousand unwanted memories. I hugged her back, luxuriating in her smell, the sense of her closeness.
The place was nearly empty. There was a group of construction workers sitting at a table near the bar, enjoying an early liquid lunch: Budweiser out of the can. A few hours later they would have been utterly out of place; this wasn't the kind of establishment where working Joes came to sip $12 martinis. As it was, I found their presence somehow humanizing. A poet, or an aspiring rockstar-type sat at the far end of the bar, writing furiously in a well worn spiral bound notebook. Well, he sure had the look down: high pale cheekbones, shaggy tousled blonde hair, torn jeans and long unruly limbs. He was wearing an oversized SpongeBob Squarepants t-shirt, and was sitting on his black biker's jacket. I wondered idly if what he was writing was any good.
Sandra and I sat down at the bar. The bartender took our order. She was not a small woman; the fact that she was wearing a horned Viking cap straight out of Hagar the Horrible and that she had her (bleached) blonde hair twisted in two thick braids down past her shoulders did nothing to make her seem any less imposing. I meekly ordered a beer. Sandra went straight for the hard stuff.
Our conversation was remarkably civil and low key. We danced carefully around the painful bits, sticking to safe topics and mutual friends. Damn, she was cute. What a pity she could be such a God Awful Raging Bitch when the mood was upon her.
Sandra ordered another glass of whiskey. I was still only halfway through my beer. I wasn't used to drinking this early. She was starting to slur her words a little. She casually rested her hand on my knee. I thought I might melt. Damned if she wasn't making me horny.
"You fucking little slut," Sandra whispered to me, startling me out of my little reverie, "You are so fucking sexy."
Unsteadily, she leaned over, kissing me on the lips. Her kiss was fierce, aggressive. She bit down on my lip, hard. Interesting. Very interesting.
She didn't let up. Hey, I thought we were broken up?
Sandra kissed me again, hard. Then she grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled, forcing my head back. Her free hand unerringly found my nipple, poikey hard through my bra. She pinched it mercilessly, pulling and twisting till the tears came to my eyes. Fuck me! Why hadn't we ever played this way when we were together?
I could feel the heat of her crotch through my jeans when she finally released me.
"You fucking horny little tramp," Sandra hissed at me, all playful-serious. Swish- smack! She slapped me hard across the face. I tasted blood in my mouth. I would have a fat lip for sure. "I'd like to fuck you right here, right on this bar. You want that don't you?"
"Yes," I whispered meekly. I did. Strangely enough, I really did.
She pulled out a little red-handled pair of safety scissors, the kind they give you to do crafts with in grade school. Oh My! I had a pretty good idea what her next move was going to be... When we were together our sex life hadn't been particularly kinky. I'd never really felt comfortable suggesting the really nasty stuff. I guess I'd been afraid of what she might think of me. So why was she starting this now?
Snip snip snip- she cut jaggedly straight up the middle of my nice blue t-shirt. I didn't move. I was tingling- yes that's the word, tingling with excitement. Snick- my bra suffered the same fate. Damn, those things aren't cheap either. My tits hung out for everyone in the bar to see. I may not be stacked, but I'm not small either. I felt about a dozen eyes swivel in my direction. Blushing, I looked down at my chest. My nipples were erect. I became aware that I was hugely physically excited. My crotch felt like it was already soaking, my clit throbbed in time with the Green Day cd on the jukebox.
Sandra slipped the scissors back into her purse and stood up, placing her hands on my hips. Obediently, I got up off my stool and, following her encouragement, scooted my ass up onto the bar. I knocked over my beer with a clunk. I ignored the cold sticky liquid pooling all over the bar and soaking through my blue jeans. My eyes were locked on Sandra. It suddenly seemed very quite in there, despite the thumping music.
She went at my tits again, pinching and twisting them until I cried out in pain. When I looked down at them, my nipples were long and hard and red, more erect than I'd ever remembered seeing them before. I noticed that the front door, which had been open to the blinding spring sunshine outside was now closed, and that the construction workers at the table across from us were all staring at me. I didn't mind though; it only made me more excited.
I felt strong hands pinning my arms behind my back, and Sandra started tugging my jeans off while the big Valkyrie bartender chick kept me from sliding off the beer-soaked bar. Once past my hips, my pants came off easily and landed in a crumpled heap on the floor. I felt incredibly vulnerable at that instant. Things were way out of control. I felt dizzy, as if I weren't inhabiting my own body, as if I were watching this whacked-out scene unfold from a safe distance. I looked at Sandra. She had a wicked little smile on her face. It didn't exactly melt my heart, but it was definitely melting certain other parts of my anatomy. She looked so fucking sexy standing in front of me, hands on her hips, short skirt riding up, her flame red hair wild and messy. She licked her lips, slowly and deliberately. My panties were soaking wet, and I was pretty sure it wasn't just the spilled beer. No ma'am.
"I am going to fuck you cross-eyed," Sandra whispered to me. I just nodded dumbly. Sandra pulled out the grade-school scissors again. I shook my head No. These were my favorite pair of panties, black with lacy fringe and a little red heart embroidered right over the clit. Sandra understood. She put away the scissors and I lifted up my ass, letting her pull the damp-bottomed black undies down past my ankles, leaving me completely naked and utterly exposed sitting up on the bar, my bare ass squishing in a pool of spilled beer.
Sandra took a seat on the barstool in front of me, pushing my legs apart until they were spread wider than I would have thought possible. My God, I wanted her. All that time we'd been together and we'd never had sex this hot. Ever. She stuck out her tongue and carefully licked the length of my vulva, from my ass cheeks all the way up to my clitoris. I was so hot at this point, so turned on. Her tongue felt amazing on me. I didn't know if I was going to explode all over her face, or just melt right then and there. I closed my eyes and let my body fall lengthwise onto the bar while Sandra kept licking me, softer and harder, slower and faster, driving me crazy but never quite letting me orgasm.
When she stopped licking, I opened up my eyes. My clit was throbbing. I literally ached with lust. It felt like my pussy was my whole body, swollen and wet and slippery and teetering right on the edge of a massive come. It was pornographic, incredibly erotic. I looked around. The bartender, the Viking warrior chick was standing behind the bar, stroking my hair. The construction guys were all standing around me. There was a flash as one of them took a picture with his digital camera. I realized that I had been aware of the clicking of the shutter for a while. One of the guys, a big, chiseled heavily muscled dude who some women might have thought sexy but who for me had all the sex appeal of a space alien had his dick out and was jerking off. Jerking off to me. I felt like a porn star. As I watched, another one of the guys, a Hispanic dude with a beer belly unfastened his belt and took out his own cock. It was very hard, and quite big. Normally the sight of strange men masturbating in close proximity to my nakedness would have been disturbing at the very least; at that moment it only made the scene hotter for me.
