I'm going to apologize to those of you who read the prelude, and were confused af. I was trying to give you the mind movie of a flash of memory that happens in a movie, a television show, or one of those extended 'artisitic' movie videos of a bit of the backstory.
I promise that as the story progresses, all elements will unveil themselves.
Thank you for your feedback, no matter the level of how constructive it was.
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Mood: The Hills by The Weeknd
Sean blasted down the highway, the engine of the Monte Carlo SS roaring as it ate up the highway. It was 4:17 in the morning, and he was halfway to shit-faced, but well beyond buzzed. He didn't know where he was going, but knew where he'd been, and in his mind it was wrong. He had to get out of there before he did something bad to Angela.
His cell phone rang, and the caller ID told him it was Eric. Obviously, she had called her brother, his former business partner, and now he was calling to check on Sean. After the third ring, Sean hit the button that would let the phone be piped over the speakers through its bluetooth connection with the stereo system.
"Shaw--" came Eric's sleep clotted voice. Sean cut him off before he could continue.
"Your whore of a sister has been cheating, bruh." Sean spat.
"Watch your lang--"
"Oh. Yeah. Slut. My bad. Whores get paid to fuck."
"Fuck you dude!" The phone disconnected. Sean only grunted, feeling a bit of joy at the small victory.
He glanced at the speedometer, and the needle was buried at 115, so he let off the throttle. It took a few seconds, but the car slowed to a reasonable rate of speed, and he just cruised as he got lost in his thoughts.
***
Sean and Angela had been seeing each other for a couple of weeks, but he was still having issues with trust. At least, that's what Angela was telling herself as she sat across the table from him. She was dressed in a pair of stretch pants and a crop top that showed off all of her assets, as she had just come from the gym where she'd ran into him.
Sean was dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and a tank top that showed off his arms and his solid build. He chewed on a forkful of the salad that sat in front of him which was loaded with all of the post work-out protein he could guiltlessly eat: eggs, ham, cheese, and pickles.
"Well?" Angela asked.
"Well what?" Sean asked back once he swallowed. "You already know my position.Until you can guarantee you don't want anyone or anything else, we aren't going to be official."
Angela's caramel complexion flushed to a slight backcast of burgundy.
"So, what are we then?"
"Friends. With Benefits." He replied.
"And what if I told you I was pregnant?"
"Are you?"
She shook her head after a moment, and sighed. "No."
Sean smacked his lips together, and pushed his plate away. "Thanks for fucking up my lunch." His tone was flat.
"Whatta you--"
"You literally can't say you don't want anyone or anything else, but you want me to commit. You play games with shit that changes circumstances." He stood and turned to walk toward the register with his bill, saying back over his shoulder.
"You're a dumbass."
Angela had just sat there dumbfounded, while those nearby looked between her and the door.
***
Angela screeched into the driveway of her apartment an hour later, what little make-up she was wearing was smudged from the tears she had shed in the car. But she had decided she was going to make Sean pay.
"Call me a dumbass, will you?" She slammed the door of her car as she made her way up the sidewalk to her half of the double. Letting herself in the door, she stripped off and headed to the bathroom to take a shower. On the way, she tapped out a message to her 'Girls Night' group chat, telling them to meet her at The Block.
Of course as she showered, her phone dinged incessantly with notifications from her chat where her friends Sasha, Trina and Nicole were chattering back and forth about what they were wearing and hoping to land. Namely, one of the 'ballers' that sat upstairs in one of the VIP suites that were marked 'Solitary'.
Angela got out of the shower, and made her way into her room. Dropping her towel, she slid on a purple thong. Then, after going through her closet, she settled on a snow white mini skirt and a matching tube top. The Fuck Me heels that she picked were the same shade of purple as her thong, which peeked out above the waist of her skirt. She then set about the task of doing her make-up -- minimal, and meant to accent -- before finishing off with her hair. Two hours later, she looked like the maneater she had decided to be that night.
Heading outside, she got into her car -- a black Toyota Camry -- and pulled out so that she could drive across the city to meet up with her friends for some mexican. Each of them had nachos and margaritas, while alternating between talking about how stupid men were, and how much they were looking forward to landing a baller that night.
While Dayton wasn't an epicenter of celebrity or commerce like Hollywood, for a city its size, it had some relatively wealthy people. Add to that the fact that it was a manufacturing center that had midwestern working values, and you had a combination for success. The fact that it was on the leading edge of the computer age meant that it held the seeds for future prosperity and economic survival.
After their nachos and margaritas, they all loaded up into Angela's car, and made their way to The Strip, a collection of bars, clubs, and adult entertainment on the edge of the city. Pulling into the parking lot of The Block, they made their way to the front door, and the bouncer let them slide in.
R&B throbbed through the speakers so loud that the bass stole the breath of the girls as they passed through the metal detector, which gave its visual alert. The guards used their wands on all 4 girls, and then let them pass once their purses were searched, as their scanty outfits couldn't hide a weapon.
They could taste the sweat and arousal in the air as bodies grinded together on the dance floor, the group barely making their way through the press of bodies as they made their way toward the bar. They continued with the margaritas, though each of them took a shot of patron to go with it. Soon enough they were out on the floor, each of them paired up with a guy, holding their drinks above their heads as they danced.
By the third song, Trina had finally gotten Angela's attention, and pointed toward the tinted windows of Solitary. A backlit silhouette stood there, with a drink in hand, looking down at the crowd below him. A moment later, he was joined by two women that pressed themselves against him, and stayed there. One of them eventually reached up, and pulled his face toward her so that they could kiss, and Angela could make out his hand moving to knead her full ass cheek.
She felt a hand grab her wrist, and looked back down to see that Sasha had a hold of her, and Trina was tugging them toward the staircase that led up to the VIP section. They stood at the bottom, staring up at the camera, waiting to see if they would be buzzed up within the 10 second limit.
Trina, short for Katrina, was short and slender. Almost too short. Her breasts were small, as was her ass, but the leather corset and skirt put everything she had on display nicely. She had her curly brown hair done up in a ponytail.
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Sasha was nordic, in every sense of the word. Tall and blonde, her breasts were large and barely contained by the peasant blouse she wore over the tight purple suede jeans that hugged her fat ass and thick thighs.
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Nicole stood there fidgeting. She was insecure in her averageness, and as such, she wore a little red dress to match her natural ginger hair, to make her girl next door appeal go bad. As a testament to her insecurity, she had worn no bra or panties.
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