Third Date 7

"Need those second chapter revisions by four, Claire."

"Yeah, yeah."

I glare out of the door of my closet... sorry, my

office,

watching the bobbing, shiny circle of my boss's bald spot as he navigates the maze of cubicles that separate my demesne from cubicle country. Sighing, I open my desk drawer and pull out a room-temperature, tiny bottle of energy drink and chug it. Tossing the empty bottle into the bin, I put my earbuds back in and settle back to work.

I'm the editor for the tiny science fiction arm of a tiny publishing company, which is actually just another imprint of a publishing behemoth. I don't particularly care for science fiction, but I'm not in charge of choosing who gets published and who doesn't. I'm just the one who has to marshal the sub-literate submissions of what invariably seem to be either men with advanced engineering degrees and no concept of the effective use of a comma, or else star trek/wars fanboys who've decided that they're going to tell thinly-disguised versions of their particular fetish, only with the stuff they don't like fixed.

It depresses me that the only people making real money from this genre are the ones who didn't bother getting a liberal arts degree. If I have to read another four thousand word run-on sentence defining what, precisely, a Lagrange point is, or why else swords made of light are actually very practical weapons for a high-tech culture, I'm going to throttle someone.

I'm done with the edits my boss wants just a little after noon. Just because I loathe my work doesn't mean that I'm not great at it. I mail my edits to myself, so I'll have them on my phone, and then I head out for a lunch break I don't intend to return from today. A little after three I'll submit them from my phone's email client, and with a little luck (and long-established patterns), my boss won't come back to this part of the office again today.

I pass Milo, the assistant several of us share, and he gives me a nod and a wink on my way out. There will be quid-pro-quo if he has to cover for my absence, but he knows I'm good for it. I wave to him and step out of the office doors, into the sunshine. It's a glorious day outside, and I pick up a slice from the place next door and take it to the little municipal park across the street to eat.

I'm totally daintily trying to rub a post-pizza grease spot off of my jeans with a rapidly disintegrating napkin when a pair of very expensive shoes walks into my field of vision.

"Excuse me, miss, um..."

So, yeah, the expensive shoes are matched with an expensive suit, and the man wrapped in it is offering me an honest-to-god expensive-looking handkerchief. A

handkerchief

.

"Too many period dramas?" I ask.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nevermind. Thanks."

I take the hanky and pour a little water on it. At least now I'm spreading a stain with

style

.

He takes the seat next to me on the park bench, and I look at him while I rub. Nice.

Really

nice. I like to think I'm not the kind of girl who's head is turned by earthly trappings, but this guy is really put together. Good clothes, good hair, carries himself with a yeah-I-know-I'm-attractive-but-I'm-not-a-dick-about-it kind of air.

He's smiling at me, and his eyes aren't wandering, but I have no doubt he checked out the goods before he decided to contribute to the cause. I'm not super-hot or anything, but my dad was basically a Norwegian bachelor-farmer, and my mom is Vietnamese. I ended up with that weird asian-girl-next-door look that drives the white boys nuts, freckles and all. I keep in good shape for someone with a desk job, and I don't hurt for dates when I'm feeling social.

And I gotta say, right here, right now, I'm feeling kinda social.

"So," I say, "let's say, what, eight tonight?"

He smiles wider, and laughs.

----

"Science fiction, huh?"

"Mhmm." I reply, mouth full of vermicelli. After I finish chewing, I say, "Precisely as glamorous as you imagine."

"I imagine a lot of pimples."

"Mmm, you're not wrong, though it's also a lot of engineering mansplaining."

"I bet. So, um, not to be indelicate, but what precisely is this?" He waves his chopsticks at the bowls in front of us.

"Well, mine is pho with beef balls. Yours is Bun Bo Hue."

"So is this some sort of first date hazing ritual?"

"Basically. Do you want me to tell you what's in it?"

He plucks a clot of congealed pig's blood out of the soup with his chopsticks and examines it for a minute before popping it in his mouth. He chews thoughtfully for a while before he swallows. "No, no I don't think I do."

"Pretty

and

wise."

"Just aware of my limitations. Have to be, in my business."

"Which is?"

"Sales."

"Of?"

"Post-it notes, mostly."

I snort. "Fine, be mysterious."

"Better chance at a second date if I have some secrets."

"Your best chance at a second date is to make sure you don't fuck up the kiss at the end of the first one."

Jesus, I think he just

blushed

. "Noted."

Dinner continues in the same vein, and he holds his own pretty well. I'm a creature who enjoys contrast, and about the time my tits showed up (thanks, Norway) I figured out that it's fun to keep the boys off balance by dressing like a saint but talking like a sinner.

Also, I can put up with a lot in a potential fuckbuddy, but I've never been able to abide stupid. They don't have to match wits with me, exactly, but they need to be able to follow along without being lead. Simon (Mr. Handkerchief) handles himself rather well, after the initial salvos.

Soon we finish eating (him without splattering himself with chili-oil, something I've never managed eating that dish) and we pick up a couple of gelatos and stroll down the sidewalk. It's a little late, and traffic on the sidewalk is pretty light in this neighborhood. We're about to pass a few young guys sitting on a stoop when one of them decides to cut loose with a wolf-whistle.

Don't get me wrong, I get the machismo-in-packs thing, but I also know how the right kind of emasculation at the right time of adolescence can wreak havok on the development of the adult male asshole. I spend the next two minutes deriding a group of barely-legal-to-drink males in the way only a twenty-something attractive female can. Half of them will probably end up with dominatrix fetishes.

As I'm winding down, it occurs to me that my date might have liked another shot at chivalry. I look at him, and he'd watching me with a wry half-smile and a raised eyebrow. "Do you have anything that you'd like to add?"

He laughs and says, "Well, actually, I'd li

----

I blink and weave in place for a moment. What the fuck was that? Did I have a stroke? "W-what?"

"I said that I thought you covered everything."

It takes me a moment to pick up the conversational thread again. He's still looking at me with that little smile, and when I look at the guys, half of them are grinning and the other half are trying to hide grins.

"I... Uh... Okay, then, uh..."

He takes my elbow, and says to the boys, "I hope you'll take what happened here to heart, gentlemen, and adjust your behavior accordingly."

They give him a chorus of 'Yes, sir's and we go on our way.

By the time we get to the stoop of my apartment building, I'm no longer frazzled, and when we share a goodnight kiss, I tell him he's probably worth a second date.

"Yusss!!" is his reply, complete with exaggerated arm pumps.

"Don't push it."

He immediately composes himself. "Yes, ma'am. Saturday?"

"Saturday. You pick the place this time."

He grins and I let him steal one more peck on the lips before I turn and head into my building.

I'm halfway up the steps when I realize I'd forgotten to wear a bra. Glancing down, yup, the thin fabric shows off the points of my nipples like they're fashion accessories. Sighing, I reach my landing and start digging in my purse for my keys.

Overall a successful night. Although, given my lack of a bra, I don't understand why my tits are so fucking sore.

----

"Well, actually, I'd like you to take your shirt off and show your tits to these guys."

"You WHAT?"

"Your shirt. Unbutton it."

I gape at him like a fish out of water, even as I work the buttons of my blouse.

"Now hand it to me."

I do. "What the fuck?!"

"You know, that kind of language isn't very attractive. Now the bra."

I unfasten it, and my nipples harden in the slightly chill evening air. He holds his hand out and I give it to him.

"Now face our friends here. Fellas, take a good, long look. It's rare to see tits this nice on a frame like hers."

Half of the guys' jaws are still on the ground, the other half are fairly salivating.

"All right. Single file in front of her."

The quicker wits among them are lined up in front of me before the rest of them even start moving.

"Thirty seconds each. Whatever you want, but only her tits, and don't leave a mark."

The first couple content themselves with inexpertly mashing on my tits, and briefly pulling a nipple. Like all things involving groups of males, though, it becomes something of a competition. The third one licks a nipple, the fourth sucks, the fifth uses his teeth, getting a warning grunt from my date.

Once all of them have had their turn, he takes my shoulders in his hands and gently turns me to face him.

Idly running his finger around one of my painfully stiff nipples, he says "You need to learn to accept compliments..."

A sharp tug, and a gasp from me.

"from any man who decides to give you one."

"Now, apologize to these young men, and mean it."

I turn to the teenagers, "I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry, thank you for the compliment."

"That's enough. Does one of you have a smartphone?"

He takes one from the guy closest to him and says, "Okay, join them on the stoop. Right. Now, everyone gather around her, yeah, go ahead and get your hands on her. We'll snap a pic for a memento."

Shortly, they're mailing each other (and no doubt half of their neighborhood) the picture, in which they all have big shit-eating grins. I'm not smiling in it, but only because one of them is holding my jaw, pushing a thumb into my mouth. The rest of them contented themselves with my tits, except one daring soul, who is squeezing my cunt through my jeans.

My date hands me my blouse, and while I'm buttoning it up, he turns to them.

"She won't remember this in a minute, play along. Here." He tosses my bra to one of them, who quickly stuffs it in a pocket.

Nodding, he turns back to me, and I blink.

"W-what?"

----

I wake up with that feeling of just escaping a dream I can't quite remember. Reaching down, I find that I'm wet, so whatever it was, I must have liked it. I consider rubbing one out when I glance at the bedside clock and see I've got about eight minutes to make the morning editors meeting.

I scramble out of the apartment in record time, and I even manage to sneak in to the meeting late without causing comment, but it's almost two in the afternoon before I can escape to the ladies room long enough to bring myself off before I lose my mind.

----

"Faaaaaancy."

"I thought it was my turn to bring you somewhere you wouldn't be able to pronounce the stuff on the menu."

"And you can?"

"Oh God no, I just let the waiter order for me."

I snort half of a laugh before I can compose myself, and he points his (snail?) fork at me and grins.

"Wipe that smirk off your face."

"I earned it. You look nice tonight."

"You mean you can see more of my t... my cleavage tonight."

"I hadn't failed to notice it, no."

"I imagine you noticed that I didn't wear a bra last time, too?"

He's in the middle of taking a sip of wine when I say this, and coughs, sputtering briefly.

"I... Uh... Well, it was hard not to notice.

"Yeah, well, you didn't say anything, so I felt like maybe you could handle the big guns in public."

"It's certainly less conservative."

It

is

less conservative. I bought it today, in fact, and I'm still not quite sure why. I don't own anything else like this dress, and while it's a long way from slutty, it's also a long way from how I like to present myself. Conversely, I feel weirdly awkward about my language tonight, and I've caught myself changing word choices several times. I don't know what's going on with me. This guy isn't

that

hot.

Changing the subject, I say "You know, we could have bought thirty bowls of pho with what this meal cost."

"Not thirty bowls of Bun Bo Hue?"

"Impressive pronunciation. To the everlasting shame of my mother, I've never really liked pig knuckle."

"Mmm. How do you feel about tiny fried birds you eat whole?"

"Uh, is that on the menu tonight?"

"I guess we'll find out."

It was, thankfully, not. The meal is good, if a little challenging at times. I'm not absolutely sure we identified everything we ate correctly, but he was right there with me the whole way.

We're finishing dessert when a man who isn't our server approaches our table.

"Simon."

"Hans."

"I apologize for the timing."

My date is silent for a moment, and I decide shutting the fuck up is the better part of valor. Hans is kind of scary looking, in a really well dressed sort of way.

"This is not how I do business."

"Again, I apologize, but we have an unexpected time factor, and our other supplier has... fallen through. The fee," he lays a fat envelope on the table, which Simon makes no move towards, "will be treble."

Another moment of silence. Simon is fairly radiating cold rage, Hans impassivity.

Finally, my date responds. "Exclusivity."

It's Hans' turn to be silent for a moment. Then, "Agreed."

Simon reaches into his jacket and pulls out a pen and a pad of, swear to God, post-it notes. I watch as he writes down a phone number, and then another five digit number underneath it, then sticks it to the envelope and pushes it back to Hans. "As a mark of our new relationship, no charge."

Hans takes the envelope and nods, and then nods to me. "Again, my apologies."

He walks away. Simon watches him for a moment, clearly still extremely pissed off, and then turns to me. "We should go."

"Uh, okay."

He drops some cash on the table and we leave the restaurant. Simon is fairly radiating cold rage as we wait for the valet to bring the car.

Suddenly he turns to the kid manning the booth and hands him a hundred dollar bill. "Keep it here, overnight. Understood?"

"Uh, yessir."

He grabs my upper arm and steers to me to a line of taxi cabs. I just sort of go along, he's clearly in no mood for argument, and for once, I'm not interested in asserting myself. We get in the back seat of the first taxi.

I bite my lip for a minute, and then say, "Look, I know it's none of my business, but is everyth

----

I'm coughing like I'm going to lose a lung. Simon rubs my back until the spasms subside. "Are you okay?"

"I..."

cough

"Sorry," I pant, "I don't know what happened,"

cough cough coughcoughcough

"GOD. Okay, okay, I think I'm good."

His eyes are full of concern, and he pulls out his wallet and hands the cabbie a couple of twenties. Startled, I look out the window and see that we're at my apartment complex already. Was I coughing for ten miles or something?

He walks me up the stoop and we stop there a moment. My throat is still raw, and it's a struggle not to cough right in his face. He pulls out his handkerchief and before I can react, he wipes my chin.

"Sorry, you had a little, uh..."

"Really sexy, right?"

"Completely."

"No offense, but I think we'll both be happier if we skip the kiss tonight, especially if I'm coming down with something."

He chuckles. "No problem. Tell you what, how about we try again next Saturday? Food we can both pronounce and I promise none of my work will follow me."

I give him a little smile and push on his chest with my index finger. "Third date, huh? You sure you can handle it?"

It's hard to tell in the twilight gloom, but I'm pretty sure I got another one of his blushes. "I'll muddle through somehow."

I tweak his nose. "Somehow."

He's still standing there with a stupid grin on his face while I walk into my building.

----

"Look, I know it's none of my business, but is everything all right?"

He looks at me for a second, then leans forward and says to the cabbie, "There's three hundred in it for you if you drive until I tell you to stop and don't ask any questions."

The driver doesn't even glance backwards, he just pulls into traffic and starts driving.

Simon leans back and pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers and sighs.

I reach over and touch his shoulder. "Simon?"

"Be quiet."

Hurt, I settle back into my seat and look out the window.

I hear the sound of a zipper at the same time his hand curls into the hair on the top of my head, gripping a tight fistful. I flail as he drags me backwards and down, turning my head so that his half-hard cock mashes against the side of my face.

"Hey, w-what are..."

He shifts his grip, and soon one of his hands is pressing the side of my head against his shirt while the other shifts his cock to prod against my lips.

"No! No, nmmph..."

"Open your goddamned mouth."

Moments later he's fucking himself as deep into me as he can, taking his aggression out on my skull.

"You've had a cock in there before, act like it."

He grunts his approval as I start actively participating, changing his pace to he can enjoy the suction and my questing tongue.

"Yeah, there you go. Driver, find us somewhere private and park."

I can't see our progress with Simon facefucking me, but I feel the car make a few corners over several minutes and eventually draw to a halt.

"Deeper. Good. Faster. Nnng. Okay, ah, ah, fuckkkk yeah YEAH. Ah, ah, okay, stop, just stay there... tongue the head... yeah in a circle, yeah. Whoo. Okay, swallow.

I sit up and wipe my mouth, Simon's cum joining the expensive meal in my belly. We just sit there for a couple of minutes while he recovers, and I just sort of... watch him. The cab's engine is still running, and the meter slowly ticks upwards. The driver's eyes never even hit the rearview mirror, as far as I can tell.

Eventually, Simon pulls out another wad of bills from his wallet and passes them forward, where they are accepted without comment or eye contact. Simon sits back and regards the back of the driver's head. Leaning forward again, he puts a hand on the cabbie's shoulder.

"You did an excellent job tonight. In addition to your fee, I'd like to offer you my date's mouth. She'll put in her best effort. Interested?"

He just sits there for a moment, then he gives a short, sharp nod. Simon stares at me for an uncomfortably long moment, and then I'm exiting the taxi and walking around to the front passenger door. Sliding into the seat next to the driver, I lean down and reach under his slight paunch to unzip his pants. Three seconds later I've stuffed him in my mouth and I'm sucking him to hardness. His hands never leave the wheel, but his breath starts coming short and fast. He's older, and not in great shape, but he's clean, and his cock likes my mouth on it.

Leaning over the front seat, watching, Simon says, "When he finishes, hold it in your mouth and come back to your seat."

I absorb the new instructions without pausing in my efforts. The driver's hips are making little thrusts now, and I've moved one hand to gently cup and tease his balls. I can hear the leather of the steering wheel creaking under his grip.