The Misanthrope Seduced

I used to like Seattle. Back in the day, it was a rough-and-tumble port town, with that edge of weird and wonderful that only the Pacific Northwest brings out. It used to be beers and shots in a scruffy saloon. The music scene used to be loud

and

bad. It used to be terrible sports teams in the murky cavern that was the Kingdome. Now it's filled with techbros sipping their vanilla-soy macchiatos or their mango-peach IPAs before bicycling to their bespoke fusion cuisine (indoor covered) patio garden for an hour of earnest acoustic guitar.

It used to be authentically strange. Now it's mostly like any other city. Still, business here is good, and I end up here five or six times a year. Usually for three or four days. Sometimes, though it spills over a weekend.

Weekends are hell. All the downtown businesses are geared to the work week or are clustered around the tourist circus that is Pike Place and the waterfront. Thus, I found myself one Saturday morning in March staying in mid-town, wishing it were Monday already. On the plus side, I got up late. On the downside, I started off with some terrible K-cup room coffee. Facing boredom, I shaved, showered, and put on casual clothes. I figured I'd take my laptop and go find some breakfast. Take a breather.

The weather, predictably, was "not quite drizzling". Not enough for an umbrella, but too much to stand around in. I got a couple of blocks from the hotel when I spotted Top Pot doughnuts. Nothing says "guilty pleasure" like a maple bar, so it was only a few minutes before I was plopped down at a table with my full-fat, cow's milk, normal, caffeinated latte and one fresh, warm, naughty maple bar.

As the first delicious sip of coffee teased my taste buds, I surveyed the scene. It was certainly busy. I had effectively the last open table.

After a bit, I turned to my phone and stopped paying attention to the room. I was perhaps halfway through the pastry and similarly halfway through my beverage when she interrupted me.

"Can I sit here?" I glanced up. No "please" or "hello". No pretense of civility.

She was young, maybe mid-twenties, short, thin, and South Asian. She had very brown skin and night-dark thick hair that hung to her shoulders. She was wearing "sexy librarian" glasses and a tight baby blue t-shirt ("Science... like magic but real"). Dark green cargo pants completed the ensemble. She had her raincoat over one arm and a short coffee drink clutched in one hand.

I blinked twice.

"I don't know. Why?"

"They're out of tables."

I just shrugged. I didn't want company, but she was a good generation younger and showed no sign of wanting anything more than a seat.

"Sure."

She plopped herself down, pulled out a notebook (the paper kind!) from her oversized purse. We ignored each other. Ignorance, as they say, is bliss.

"You from here?"

Was she talking to me? I glanced up. She was.

"No. Here on business." I made sure not to make eye contact when replying. God, that maple bar was tasty.

"The jet lag probably explains why you're such a dick," she replied. Really? I looked up at her. Her head was cocked to one side and her little blackberry-colored lip gloss lips had a mocking expression.

"You didn't have to sit here. I was enjoying my coffee..."

"All by your little lonesome. You married? You getting your rocks off looking at all the young 'uns?"

"As it happens, I'm not married and never have been. But I have a daughter about your age--maybe a bit older even. I'm not a perv. I just like a good doughnut and decent coffee. Why are you being such a... an unpleasant person after I let you share my table?" I stopped short of calling her a 'bitch'.

"Mostly to get a rise out of you. And just because you're having something long and sticky doesn't mean that you aren't scoping me out."

"Actually, I hadn't noticed you until you sat down. Looking at women was the farthest thing from my mind, actually. The age gap around me here is ridiculous, and the prevalence of rain gear makes it pointless. Do you often accost people at random like this?"

"Usually I'm such a nice demure little thing," she said in a tone that said otherwise. "But actually, yeah, sometimes I pick out mature man and see where the conversation takes me. That you're not local makes it even better."

"How so?"

"Say you live down the block. Then I'd have to worry about running into you again."

"Ah, so then you'd have to watch your mouth." I put down my phone. Against my will, the conversation was becoming more interesting.

"So, you have plans for today? Going to the tourist stuff?"

"I've seen fish thrown and I've been up the Space Needle. I've been here often enough that I don't need to do any of that."

"So, what's your plan then?"

"I plan to have a lazy day. I think your generation calls it 'Netflix and Chill'?"

"Sure, grandpa. Don't you want to liven it up some? I know all the hot places a daddy can go for some fun."

I laughed. "You're looking for a sugar daddy to take you shopping or something? Does this pickup line work for you? What would your momma say?"

"Mrs. Chatterjee would say 'He looks tasty, child, get in line behind me' and I'm not looking to get in your wallet. We could just go all the free places... and I don't think anyone says 'Netflix and chill' anymore, although, if you wanted, we could do that."

"You're coming on pretty strong. You lose a bet or something?"

"Oh! You got me. My posse is watching me talk you up. I've got a zillion dollars riding on my being able to take you to my apartment and do an all-day movie marathon." She stuck her tongue out and waggled her shoulders.

"So..."

"So. I just like mature older established men. Tall men. Handsome men. We can walk around and do things. Have a nice conversation. As long as we end the day horizontal somewhere. Clear enough for you?"

I ate the end of the maple bar and licked my fingers clean. Damn, that was a good maple bar. I picked up my latte, now seeming a bit on the lukewarm side. The milk was starting to have that fatty greasy taste to it.

This had to be some sort of put on or goof or tease. She was young and cute enough. And it was utterly goofy to think she was fully honest or lacked ulterior motives. How embarrassing could she make the situation? How far would she take it? Conversely, how far could

I

take it without getting taken for a ride?

"Look, I don't know what game you're playing at." She started to interrupt, but I went on. "But as you noticed, I don't have any plans or a hot date. I don't have a wife or a girlfriend back home. We can do something and see where it takes us."

"Did you have something in mind?"

"I've never ridden on the silly monorail. You want to give it a go?"

She laughed. "Oh my god. I've lived here all my life and I've never been on it, except maybe once when I was five. It is

such

a tourist thing to do."

"We'll buy a bag to put over your head so none of your posse of besties will see you slinking off of it." I offered.

"It runs from the Westlake mall," she replied. "That's nearby, but the other end is the Seattle Center, which is near my place--if you don't mind walking in the rain."

"I am prepared for dampness." I thought for a moment and then added, "but I'm not prepared for anything else. We should stop by a drug store or something."

"I have everything we might need at home. Are you done with that coffee?"

I nodded. She started packing up her things. I held up my phone and quickly snapped a photo of her. She looked at me quizzically.

"Just in case I don't turn up for work Monday."

She pulled out a massive phablet phone in an even larger purple and sparkles case and nudged a hipster looking dude worming his way to take our table.

"Take a picture of me with my advisor?" she asked him. Standing up I realized the height difference. I'm well over six feet and she was just scraping past five. We posed together while the Eddie Vedder wannabe clicked off a couple of shots.

We stepped out into the drizzle. Overhead the monorail pointed the way to our destination. We turned towards the Westlake mall.

"Now we both have incriminating photos if an axe murder takes place," she observed. "Satisfied?"

"I suppose. Do you have an axe at your place, or do we need to pick one up?"

"I keep it with my collection of chainsaws hanging in the spooky shed in the garden."

"Sounds like it might need sharpening. I like a good cutting edge..." In spite of our height difference, I found myself puffing to keep up as she strode purposefully up the block.

"Yeah, gross... are we really going to ride the monorail?" I was on guard for the bait-and-switch.

"Sure, why not?" She laughed.

"I've met a couple of guys like this before and usually they're all about getting me into their room and getting their hands in my pants as soon as possible. Although, usually they're married, I have to say."

"The day is long and I'm not sure where it will lead, but I'm not in a hurry to get to the compromising situation part. I still don't see what you hope to gain."

"Like I said, I like older men and I don't

want

anything else. I don't want to do the dating app thing and then spend the next ten years dodging some dude."

We reached the mall where the monorail station was. Inside it was all squeaky floors and empty storefronts. We had to ride the escalators up to the top level and passed under the red neon "Alweg Monorail" signs. While I fussed with the ticket machine, she pulled out her Orca (transit) card and bought her own.

"You clearly don't understand the division of labor in this situation," I observed. "Aren't I supposed to pay for everything?"

"I like to mix it up," she replied. We were standing on the platform. A big clock counted down the time for the next train. She bounced on the balls of her feet when she spotted it coming. We both grinned foolishly at each other. There were a few other tourists standing on the platform--the monorail isn't a serious bit of transit. The train rumbled into the station and the doors sprang open to disgorge a couple of people.

We clambered aboard and found seats. The experience was kitschy, but cute. Once everyone was aboard and a couple of minutes passed, the doors slid shut and we were off.

It was like going to Disneyland, except the rain sluiced off the windows and downtown Seattle was big gray buildings rather than brightly colored amusement park. At the end of the downtown area, the track curved up towards the Space Needle and its surrounding park.

About there, she put her hand on my knee. We were both still wide eyed to be doing something as dorky as the monorail. But the touch focused some of my attention on her. I put my hand on her knee in response and gave it a light squeeze. She looked from the window up into my eyes and smiled. Her eyes twinkled. Was I getting into the game? Falling into her trap?

The train swooped through some curvy ultra-modern building and alighted at the station. She had a musical laugh as we jumped up and shuffled behind others to the exit. Outside the pavilion, the trees were drippy and the walkways wet. Most folks headed to the Space Needle, but we turned towards the Chihuly glass garden, armory, fountain and finally the arena. As we walked, she took my hand in hers, but she didn't slow that much. It was too damp to really stroll in any event.

The fountain was shooting timed jets high into the sky. The vast lawn around it was abandoned save for a few hearty ducks.

"Where are we headed?" I asked her, as we exited the park, with its traffic-free streets, and she pushed the button for the walk signal.

"My place," she replied. "If it weren't raining, I could show you the killer view. Hope you're ready to climb some hills."

I pulled back on her arm. "I'm not sure I'm ready for that."

"You are weird," she informed me. "Look, we can stop off for a bite on the way. Why aren't you normal and just give in to my nefarious plan to boff you senseless?"

"Because this situation is unusual. I guess I'm not used to it, but... well, I don't even know your name."

"Really? Isn't it better this way? Two strangers, meet cute over coffee, do the nasty and never see each other. Just a nice memory. Geez, I sure can pick them," she sighed.

"It's... look, it's just me. I felt cautious because, in my experience, it seems like something like this is always a scam, always has an angle. I'm sorry, I'm just overreacting probably. So, uh, where is this amazing view of yours?"

She gave me a long look, as if appraising me. Maybe thinking of throwing me back in the pool and starting over.

"C'mon," she said, finally, taking my hand, "let's get out of the rain."

It was straight uphill for four blocks to Prospect Street. The view indeed should have been fabulous, but the weather seemed to intensify with every step. From merely dampening, it was now building into a steady intense rain. Here the sidewalks were uneven, the concrete old and mossy, pushed up from beneath by tree roots. Puffs of wind made the trees shed big blobs of wet. I was puffing to keep up with her as, mid-block, she turned off at last.

The house was brick, with a crenelated faux tower, amid a sea of gabled Edwardians and arts and crafts bungalows. Like its neighbors, it was set back behind a squishy green lawn with moss growing between the blades of grass.

We climbed wide exterior steps beside the multicar garage, to be faced with a solid old white door with a big brass knocker. The knocker was shaped like a lion, lips drawn back menacingly from fangs that held a wreath. She produced an oversized brass key and unlocked the door with a solid-sounding clunk. Stepping in from the wetness, I ruffled myself like a damp crow. The entry was a hallway faced by several doors, where the interior had been divided into apartments. There was an unlighted staircase, and she went up it. There were two doors at the top labeled "C" and "D".

Apartment C's door had thick white paint many layers thick. She held up a key and unlocked the lower lock, then fumbled with another to unlock the deadbolt above it.

"Step into my parlor," she intoned, bowing slightly.

"... said the spider to the fly," I completed the line without thinking. She grinned at me.

The interior was dark and cramped. She flicked on a hanging light--a naked bulb in an ornate brass base. The room was small, with a tiny efficiency kitchen, a small table with two bentwood chairs, and a threadbare rug over the well-worn wooden flooring. There were two doorways, one a darkened bathroom. The other had the only window, which poured daylight onto a rumpled, multi-colored bed that filled the room.

Everywhere was crammed, mainly with books, but some gewgaws, bits of clothing, boxes of indeterminate content. She shrugged her damp raincoat off and hung it from a hook behind the door, pushing the door closed as she did so. I followed suit.

She whirled to the two-burner stove, taking up a teapot.

"Tea?"

"I guess," I replied. "You, uh, have a name?"

She laughed. "Sure. Do you?"

"Usually. Do you want to share, or should I put a bag over my head also?"

"I didn't take you for the kinky type. I'm Alice. My father figured that a real Americanized name would help me blend in."

"Do you like it?"

"It does the job. I was glad to come a bit early. A couple days later and I would have been April and that would have been unforgiveable. How about you?"

"I like it just fine. I think it might suit you."

"I meant, how about your name, dickhead." I told her.

"Do you like it?"

"It does the job," I deadpanned. The teapot began to spit steam, not quite what you'd call a whistle.

"Lapsang Souchong? Or Mint? I'll warn you, lapsang is probably an acquired taste."

"Sounds exotic. I'll try it."

"It's smoked. My mother says it smells like horse urine."

"Sounds scrumptious." I accepted the oversized earthenware mug from her. The tea needed to steep, but the warmth was nice on my cold fingers. I looked about for a place to sit, and found the choices limited. There were the dining chairs or a lumpy, worn-out mustard colored loveseat. One cushion was festooned with folded t-shirts and what appeared to be some lacy undies. I carefully lowered myself onto the other one.

Alice smirked at my discomfort, set her mug on the dining table, and proceeded to scoop up the laundry.

"Sorry," she said, "I didn't plan on bringing my prey back to my lair. Usually I prefer a nice bright hotel room."

"We could have gone to mine, but I'll admit that I like this better."

She had her teacup and slid in next to me on the loveseat. I sniffed my cup curiously. The smell was strong, smokey and, somehow, did remind me vaguely of pee. Alice was watching me as I brought the cup to my lips. The taste was pungent, but less strong than it smelled. I felt it warming me as it went down.

The corners of her eyes smiled, as if this were some sort of ritual or test. She took a big sip of her own steaming mug.

We looked at each other. Moreover, I looked at her. Ostensibly we were here to do naked adult things: she'd promised nothing less at every turn since we'd met. But a big part of me hadn't really looked at her in a sexual way at all. She was probably younger than my daughter and unlike, well, anyone I'd slept with.

She looked down into her tea, perhaps a little sheepish under my gaze. Her dark hair was tucked behind one tiny brown ear, its tip decorated with a simple gold hoop. Her glasses announced that they were Miu Miu's in stripey tortoiseshell. She had hazel eyes and a small, upturned nose. Her body seemed tiny, almost fragile. Her science shirt hugged tightly, clearly showing the outline of her simple brassiere. There were two very ripe fruit lurking under there, waiting to be plucked.

I felt a familiar stirring in my pants in response to that. It felt vaguely out-of-place. I was suddenly a dirty old man, vastly too old to be thinking about putting my hands on her breasts, groping her warm brown nipples.

She looked at me then, a small quirk in her lips forming into a question.

"You thinking about getting naked?"

"I was thinking what it would be like."

"I hope you're packing. I like them big and meaty." She was

so

direct!

She put her hand on my arm, and I felt another surge in my loins. I sipped my tea and looked around for a place to set my mug. Alice's hand slipped down and touched my thigh. My blood was thick, pounding in my ears, pulsing in my pants.

Am I really going to do this?

I thought. But I was here and she was more than willing. I leaned over to try and kiss her. She dodged me to bring her lips to my ear.

"Got your attention, now, don't I? It took you long enough. Finish your tea and we'll see where this goes."

With her left hand she sipped more tea. Her right hand stayed where it was, tantalizingly located on my thigh. I retrieved my own mug and sipped. The taste was stronger now and not unpleasant.

"Let's be clear about some things before things get, uh, crazy," Alice said. "I like it strong and dirty. I want you on top and I want you to pound me hard. But I don't want you to hurt me. Stop means stop, 'kay?" I nodded.

"I'm not on the pill and I don't want any genital itches, so we use protection, right?"

"Not a fan of complications," I said. "You can count on me."

"Finish your tea and come join me in the bedroom," she replied, gulping the last of hers and then slipping out of the loveseat. With her back to me, she undid the wide studded belt. I could hear the big buckle jingling as it dangled free. I heard the snap of her cargo pants part and the muted zither of her zipper. I took another gulp of tea.

She used one toe to hold down her a Chelsea boot as she drew her sock-clad foot free. Under the boot she wore rainbow striped thick wool socks. The sock clad toes held the other boot in place. Alice glanced over her shoulder to ensure I was watching. I gulped the penultimate gulp of tea, my eyes locked on hers as she continued her impromptu strip tease.