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Mr. Farlow had set up living arrangements for me with a sweet widow in her eighties. Miss Georgia Ellis had a lovely antebellum home down on South Front St., and lived on her own, except for innumerable cats. There were living quarters on the second floor of the old detached kitchen where she put me up, and I, in return, did minor repairs, painting, yard work and occasional cat-sitting to earn my keep. When the leaves fell off the trees in the backyard, I had a lovely view of the Cape Fear River through a window facing the back of the property. It was a fantastic set-up, especially after the tiny $1500 per month studio apartment I had in San Francisco, which had a view of the adjacent tenement-like building.
I quickly fell into a routine: a run before dawn, a big breakfast at the Dixie Café on Market St., walk two blocks back to Miss Georgia’s house for a shower and change, and be at the office two and a half blocks away by 8:00 a.m. I’d walk unless it was raining, and then I might ring up one of the guys at the office to pick me up on the way in.
The office was incredible, always abuzz with work. Farlow Lewis’ creative genius fueled the fire, and youthful enthusiasm in the bullpen kept production up. I had seven or eight projects at a time, plus the museum, plus always interviewing clients about potential work, with Mr. Farlow sitting back and observing, with a keen eye and incisive observations from time to time to remind new clients why they brought their projects to us.
I’d finish up most nights about nine or ten, not really tired, but knowing I needed to step away from the drawing board if I was going to keep it fresh and fun. A couple of blocks up from the house is an old “locals” bar, The Barbary Coast, where I would drink my dinner most weeknights. Dinner usually consisted of two or three of whatever the two-dollar beer special was that week, and occasionally some General Tso’s chicken from the Chinese takeout place two doors down.
Even though I’d only been in town a few weeks, I got to know the local denizens pretty quickly. There were the drunks, the people that brought their dogs, the old military guys, the college kids – mostly girls – and downtown businesspeople hanging out to unwind from the day. The young single ladies mostly lived around the corner in the Carolina House and hung out at the Barbary because it wasn’t a pickup bar, and they could smoke and play pool and be themselves without a big hassle from guys trying to get in their pants.
There was one group of ladies that I managed to insinuate myself into, because any of them could kick my ass at foosball and I’d let them, and I’d buy them more beer and enjoy watching them getting more raucous and salty as the evening progressed. In my tie and jacket, I was totally out of place with them, but I didn’t hit on any of them and they took it as a sign that I could be included as a “non-threat”. They probably thought I was gay.
All of the girls were good-looking, with beautiful clear faces and eyes and classic bone structure with little makeup on, but they usually wore flannel shirts or hoodies or other comfy unflattering clothing which hid their bodies. One in particular was a little older than the rest – likely in her late twenties – and had a certain smoldering intensity about her that I found irresistible. She had some Mediterranean ethnicity to credit for flawless olive skin and alluring gray-blue eyes. She went by “Em”, which I feel sure was an initial, short for Martha or Myrtle or some other unfortunate Southern family name, but she never volunteered it, and, out of politeness, I never asked.
Em usually showed up at the Barbary in workout clothes with her fuzzy dark brown hair pulled back into a pony tail. A typical outfit might be cross-trainers, sweats or running warmups, some kind of sports top and a hoodie or an old denim jacket. I got the idea that she may have been some kind of instructor or personal trainer. Again, it was a little hard to get a bearing on her physically because of the loose bottoms and the sports top that created the “uniboob”, but she seemed very trim, and she was fairly tiny at about 5’2″, so I thought anything she gained would probably show up in her lovely face.
Despite the fitness outfit, at the bar she smoked like a chimney, and had a prematurely raspy voice, which was sexy in way, but also gave her demeanor a harshness that she seemed to like. She was the “house mother” of sorts to the other girls and would freely dispense advice on every men and relationships as though she had written a book. The first thing any girl had to understand is that All Men Are Pigs, and then any additional advice will become much more valuable. Em would say something along those lines and give me a quick wink and a smile. I’m not sure if she was including me or not. She probably thought I was gay, too.
The rumor was that Em was a lesbian, or at least bi-sexual, which would work well with her general loathing of men. I never saw her do anything to deny balgat escort such allegations if there was any name calling, as there can be over a heated foosball game, but she remained an enigma to me. She rejected any attempts to feminize her name: if someone casually called her Emma or such, she’d retort with a quick “my name is Em, not Emma, not Emily, fuck you very much”, which also discouraged any one asking about her real name, if there was one.
There were a few nights where the three or four of us would get all drunk and flirty, hugging and tickling like little girls, and I’d exchange long, lustful glances at Em, which she would usually break off first. I knew there was some heat there, some passion, but was it just the PBR talking?
One Thursday night on the way home, I was on cloud nine because we had closed a deal on an important hotel project. We thought we were going to lose the deal to some stiff competition out of Chicago, but the old one-two punch of Mr. Farlow’s distinguished reputation and my youthful bravado won them over. I had a work hard-on, and I was going to splash around what little money I had by celebrating with my homies at the Barbary Coast. When I got there, Em wasn’t there, and I was immediately disappointed. I had promised myself not to get emotionally involved with any of my new pals, but I still had a little crush on her and wanted her to celebrate with us. I bought a round of beers for everybody and we whooped and hollered and played foosball and dumped quarters into the electronic jukebox and generally lived it up in celebratory fashion.
It was about ten o’clock that night when I saw Em walk into the Barbary. She was nearly unrecognizable in black leggings and a tight fuschia cashmere cardigan that showed off her magnificent shape, clicking along in some high black patent “fuck me” pumps that made her about 5’7″. Her hair was soft and down to her shoulders, some miracle of physics that probably involved paid professionals. Her eyes had a smoky shadow and her lips almost matched the intense pink of her sweater. There was no cigarette hanging from the corner of those beautiful, full lips. She had the intensity and sexiness of Marion Cotillard, with the radiant confidence that was Em’s own trademark. She owned the room for a few moments, until the whistles and catcalls died down and she approached us at one of the foosball tables, where I was getting my ass kicked, as usual.
When she was still a few feet away, I realized my jaw had actually dropped, and I expected to hear her crack something like, “Whatchu looking at, dickhead?” with a big laugh and a punch in the shoulder, but the insult never came, and I managed to close my mouth before she had completed the journey.
In a moment, I was heartbroken. She had found someone. Someone who had changed her life and made her want to offer them everything she had to offer. I didn’t know who she was on her way to see, but they were the luckiest man (or woman) in the world that night. I decide to shake it off and enjoy the view. Damn, she was beautiful.
We joked with her a little about turning tricks to pay the rent or other such banter to make us more comfortable around this side of Em we had never seen before, and then quickly fell back into the usual trash talk about whose ass was about to be kicked at the foosball table. Em took the opposite side against me, and I drew Liz to be on my side, who was some kind of idiot savant who could not hold down a job, but was probably the best foosball player in the county. I smugly felt a little better that I was at least about to win at this damned game.
While we played, Em yelled over the jukebox “I heard about the hotel job. Congratulations!”
I felt like a selfish, self-centered dick while I thanked her. She was being nice to me and I hadn’t so much as offered a decent compliment on how incredible she looked.
“Does that mean you’ll be gone a lot?” she asked.
“Just for the first month or so, to get the ball rolling, and then maybe a visit every two weeks”, I yelled back.
“We’ll miss having such a great loser to play foosball with us”, she smiled, and the other girls agreed.
I was feeling pretty buzzed from the earlier celebration, but I started to wonder if Em wasn’t looking at me differently that night. Whenever there was a pause in the game, she’d stare straight into my soul with those gray-blue eyes. There was something going on. Was I too drunk to figure out what it was? Was it a gag?
After Liz dominated the table and won for us, she disappeared to take a piss and Em came over to my side to take on the next challengers.
She looked up into my eyes and said, “We ought to do something together before you leave town”.
I stared deeply back at her, looking her up and down in disbelief at the vision right next to me, and said, “Yeah, we totally should”, slowly and deliberately enough that there was no mistaking my meaning. Again, the cheap beer bahçelievler escort talking, but I was going all in.
I played terribly the next game, intent on smelling her perfume and bumping into her whenever it was plausible. I stared down at her chest beside me, which was no longer a uniboob, but a spectacle of classic proportions. Her purple bra straps were showing at her shoulders, and I could see some incredible cleavage down the top of her sweater. On her tiny frame, the C cups were impressive, and her satiny bra did almost nothing to hide her erect nipples at the two fuzzy points on her sweater.
Damn. I didn’t care who she was going to see later that night, I was going to tell her how I felt. I’d already let on that I lusted after her – what more damage would it do? If I went down in flames, I’d have a month out of town to recover, and she’d forgive me for my inappropriateness by then.
One point down and about to lose the game (due to my ineptness, of course), I leaned over and said right into her ear “I can’t get you out of my mind”.
She turned to me with a shocked look on her face, grimaced a little and yelled back “WHAT?”
Not sure if the music had made it hard to hear, or if she was repulsed by what I said, I hesitated for a moment, not knowing which way to go. Laugh it off or go for it?
I leaned in right next to her ear, inhaled deeply her warmth, her smell, her sexiness, and said, one word at a time,
We both stood still as statues as the winning shot dropped and our opponents won. I saw the light turn on in her eyes, which started as a glow, and turned into a blaze.
She threw her arms around me and planted a ferocious kiss of hunger and need on my lips, which I returned as passionately. I reached around her in a tight hug, and held her for moment that seemed like an eternity, with everyone around us dissolving into unimportance.
The embrace was broken by her, as she pushed me back with both arms, still staring into my eyes with an animal hunger I’d never seen in my life.
Without a word, she reached down, grabbed my hand and led me toward the back of the bar with some urgency. She pulled open the door to the tiny ladies room and pushed me inside before I could speak. She quickly latched the door behind her and grabbed my face to continue her attack with her lips. Our tongues fought frantically for what seemed like hours as our bodies rubbed together – the crotch of her black leggings humping frantically against my now awkwardly distended erection, which was fruitlessly searching for a way out of my tented suit pants.
My hands roamed wildly over her body – down her tiny waist to her athletically solid ass of steel, marveling at the curves I hoped were there but never knew existed. I skimmed my hands across the top of her ultra-soft sweater to find her nipples almost unbelievably hard, on top of beautiful, soft, luxuriously full breasts that were straining against the purple satin bra.
I was in such ecstasy that I didn’t care about moving along, but Em broke the embrace again, and I saw in her eyes that we were only enjoying the appetizer. Things were about to get intense.
After a moment to catch her breath and tell me with her eyes what was about to happen, she began to rapidly unbuckle my belt and ran her hands up to unbutton my white dress shirt. She twirled my tie playfully for second, tossed it over my shoulder and then unfastened my pants and threw my suit pants and boxer briefs down to my knees in one swift motion, careful not to injure my intensely rock hard penis that was purple with excitement.
Em gasped at the sight of my cock, and I thought “at least she knows I’m not gay” for a millisecond, and then she quickly unwrapped a condom and put it on me (where did that come from?), and I tried to get my bearings and figure out what was about to happen in that junky little restroom.
Em pushed me back in way that I knew that I was supposed to sit down on the toilet lid, and in my mind I ran through all the improbably geometries of sex in that tiny room. She turned away from me and wiggled her awesome ass at me, and then pulled down the black tights to her calves in a way so I was staring right at her pussy and pink asshole about a foot from my face. I could smell her feminine desire, and I started wonder if I was dreaming, it was so intoxicating.
Em leaned slightly forward with both hands to grab the front corners of the wall hung sink and lowered herself toward my lap. With her legs spread wide at the knees, and perched on the shiny black heels, she backed up until her beautiful ass was almost touching my chest, slowly lowering to my crotch. Hanging on with her left hand, she reached under with her right and pried my erection from my belly, continuing her downward slide until her pussy lips were on top of my now painful erection.
There batıkent escort was an intense heat between the two of us before either of us moved, and we reveled in the moment until some high-pitched voice said “Hurry up in there, would ya?”, which broke us both out of our bliss as we remembered that we were in a public bathroom with perhaps a hundred and fifty people outside.
“Fuck you! Go use the guys’ toilet!” Em said without much hesitation. We both laughed for a moment, and the magic might a have been broken, but there wasn’t enough water in the world to put out the fire that burned where our crotches were welded together.
I reached up from behind and slipped my hands up her sweater, cupping her beautiful breasts through her satin bra, kneading softly as she started to grind against my pole laid across her entry. She moaned as I flicked and kneaded her nipples, and they responded by lengthening and hardening. I pulled the cups of her bra down under each breast so I had access to the smoothness of the hot skin, and I toyed with her nipples while she encouraged me some squeaks and grunts of pleasure. I wanted badly to get my mouth on them, but the tiny space was awkward enough already and I knew that I’d better let her call the shots. I found it difficult to take in all of the sensations, so I next concentrated on trying to unbutton the tiny pearl buttons of the sweater, which became more difficult as her writhing became more enthusiastic.
When I finished unbuttoning the sweater, she let herself get a little more wild, trusting me to keep my grip on her so she wouldn’t fall to one side or the other, which likely would have meant a painful collision with either of the sidewalls or the sink.
As she moved, I occasionally caught glimpses of her beautiful face reflected in the mirror over the sink: smoky eyes closed, lips parted in unearthly pleasure. I could watch in disbelief as I saw my own hands squeezing those beautiful firm tits and teasing her rubbery little nipples with the underside of my index fingers. She was so incredibly beautiful from every angle I could see.
Slowing down the gyrations which had generously slathered my aching cock with her passion, she let out a deep sigh, raised herself up slightly and guided me into her. Oh my God she was tight, but so slick that there was little resistance. She bobbed for about a minute on the head of my prick, and I felt her ridges inside tug on me like they were sucking on me. I didn’t know how much longer I was going to last.
I was right on the edge when she lowered the rest of the way down on me. I wasn’t nearly as sensitive this way, and I’d had enough beer that another discomfort helped to distract me and keep me from blowing my load immediately.
“Drew . . . fuck . . . fuck me . . .” Em pleaded as we both headed into bliss.
Em leaned forward with her hands on her knees and ground her crotch into mine. I could feel the rolled up base of the condom rubbing her pussy, and she responded with some animal grunts and moans. I grabbed her tiny waist and swirled her around on top of me, like I was stirring her insides. I could feel my cock bottom out inside of her and felt the tip swirl around inside as she ground counterclockwise around it. She instinctively grabbed the handicapped grab bars at the sides and pulled herself down, impaling herself on me, shuddering and shaking and whimpering. Her pussy grabbed me and sent me over the edge.
I must have made some crazy animal sound when I came, because Em turned halfway around and shushed me with her finger to her lips, giggling and shuddering at the same time. We both convulsed for some time, and she leaned back with her head next to mine, where I could smell her perfume and taste her sweat as I pulled her hair aside and tenderly kissed her neck. We took a moment to try to regain our composure, luxuriating in the afterglow.
It may have been thirty seconds, or it may have been an hour, when a banging came on the door and a gruff male voice shouted “Congratulations. You fucked. Now let someone else use the can.” We hurried and cleaned up and put ourselves together as best we could, although playing it cool was apparently out of the question at this point. I stepped out first, to raucous cheers from the back of the room. The place was rowdy enough that we still were unknown about in the front of the bar, at least for the next thirty seconds.
Red-faced, I endured some back-slapping and high-fiving on the way out, from men and women alike. I threw a twenty-dollar bill on the bar for the bartender that had to come and holler at us. “Sorry, man”, I sheepishly said on the way toward the door.
“No problem” he said, with a wink and a thumbs up. “Next time just don’t take so long. You’re making the rest of us dudes look bad”.
I stood out on the warm midnight-in-July sidewalk for several minutes, waiting for Em to come out and meet me there. I was joyful, and shameful, and elated, and regretful, wondering what would happen next.
About when I figured she had blown me off as some kind of gag, she came out the door, radiant and joyful as I had been.
“So . . .” I started.
“So what?” she laughed. “We both wanted it, and it was incredible. I’m not some little girl that’s going to hang around expecting you to make me your ‘little woman’. Get over yourself, buddy.”
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