Part 1
It was almost 7:30 in the evening as I made my way east on West 53rd toward my hotel when the skies opened up and the rain came pouring down. I didn’t have an umbrella, of course, because – even though my hotel had complimentary ones – men don’t use umbrellas…so they can get wet…because that makes us cool. But, instead of being cool, I decided to get dry and have a drink. So, I ducked into a place I was planning on visiting anyways during my stay in New York, The Modern (that is, the restaurant and bar at The Museum of Modern Art).
Luckily, there was an open seat; I took it and immediately ordered my default drink of choice, and the one by which I measured a bar’s credibility. I scanned the gin selection and said to the waiting bartender, “Beefeater martini, semi-dry please, with a lemon twist.”
Having ordered, I took the opportunity to spin in my chair and look around. The bar and dining room were separated by a frosted glass wall. The bar room was clean, and modern in its decor (of course). Besides the long bar at which I sat, the room was filled with small tables, every one of which was occupied; not bad for a Wednesday night, I thought.
While I did take in the ambience, I was also keeping an eye on the preparation of my martini. Things were progressing as they should: chilling the cocktail glass; combining the gin and dry vermouth; adding ice to the mixing glass; stirring (not shaking) the ingredients; and then straining it into the chilled cocktail glass before squeezing the lemon peel over the drink. The taste was as good as the preparation.
“Ah,” I sighed as I downed my first sip.
“You a gin guy?” a female voice to my right asked.
I turned. A girl who looked to be in her early to mid-twenties was typing something on her phone. She had short, dark hair that ended at her chin and high cheekbones that accentuated an angular, almost hard profile that nonetheless retained its femininity. Her ears had three piercings – two silver studs on her lobe and one small, silver loop near the top. She wore a red, short-sleeve top that seemed to fall about six inches above her knees, under which were black jeans or tights – I couldn’t tell without looking more closely, which might have gotten me a slap across the face.
She hadn’t turned to look at me so I almost thought I was hearing things. “I’m sorry,” I said, “did you say something?”
She didn’t look over, still occupied by whatever she was doing on her phone, but she did reply. “Gin,” she said, “you seem to know your gin.”
“Yes,” I replied, taking a sip of my martini, “I do like my gin.”
Still without looking, she grabbed one of the bar menus in front of her and handed it to me. “Then you should order a gin and tonic,” she said, going back to typing on her phone. “It’s their thing.”
I opened the menu and sure enough, half of a page was dedicated to the classic cocktail. You could tailor it to your taste, which I planned on doing as soon as I finished my martini. Curious and in the mood to make conversation, I said, “You don’t strike me as a gin and tonic kind of person.”
She smiled but continued typing. “Are you asking why I like a drink that’s cold, refreshing, and alcoholic?”
“Fair enough,” I replied, “fair enough.”
I went back to my martini and checked Twitter and Facebook on my own phone; she continued to do whatever it was she was doing. As she reached for her own gin and tonic, I noticed the edge of a tattoo under her left sleeve. Since I caught it out of the corner of my eye, I couldn’t make out what it was. Finally, finishing my martini, I ordered a gin and tonic. In short, it was fantastic.
“You were right,” I said, “Outstanding.”
She nodded. “You’re welcome.”
She flagged the bartender and pointed to her almost empty glass. Her nails were perfectly manicured with black nail polish.
“This one’s on me,” I said to both the girl and the bartender. “I owe you a round after setting me straight.”
She put her phone down. “Thanks,” she said, drawing the final pull from her glass and setting it away from her bar napkin.
“Cheers,” I said, raising my glass to hers when it arrived.
“Cheers,” she replied, a slight smile on her face.
The girl’s dark eye makeup accentuated her green eyes while her bright red lipstick matched her top. She had a bit of a goth look, but it seemed to suit her.
“I’m Josh,” I said, offering my hand.
She looked at me sideways, again with a hint of a smile. “Elizabeth.” “So, I assume you’re from New York?” I asked.
“Josh? Does your wife approve of you talking to young girls in bars while you’re away on business?” She smiled, then took a sip of her drink.
I must have looked flustered because she smiled again, this time showing teeth.
“We’re separated,” I replied as I fiddled with my wedding band, which I hadn’t yet removed for some reason. “Besides, it’s not like I’m trying to pick you up; I’m just making conversation.”
“Why are you getting a divorce?”
Her question was so kocaeli escort unexpected, coming from someone I just met, it took me a moment to answer. “She…she cheated on me; I caught her in a lie and now we’re waiting for the divorce to be finalized.” I had no idea why I told her; it couldn’t have been the alcohol…
“Why did she cheat on you?” she asked. She then covered her mouth and lowered her voice in a conspiratorial tone, “You suck in bed or something?”
“Ha, ha; very funny…no, I don’t suck in bed!” I was way to defensive, but who the heck did this girl (who was probably half my age) think she was?
“Sorry,” she said putting her hands up, “It’s just, a good looking guy like yourself who obviously has money,” she motioned toward my clothes. “I figured perhaps she cheated on you because…you know…but if I’m mistaken…”
Huh, she thought I was good-looking? I guess there was hope for me after-all. But I digress. It was just nice to get a compliment, even in this context. “She cheated on me,” I said, leaning close to her so the whole world wouldn’t hear our conversation, “because of work. My job requires me to travel a lot. She got tired of me being gone all the time. It would have been nice if she had told me how she felt so we could have worked on it together; but she decided to work on it with someone else.”I took a long pull and asked for another.
“How long were you married?”
“It would have been 15 years next month.”
“How old were you when you married…if you don’t mind me asking?”
Now she’s worried about asking personal questions, I thought.
“I was 28.”
“You look good for 43,” she replied. “You’re almost twice my age!”
“Thanks,” I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Oh, don’t be a…” She made a square in the air with her two index fingers. “Will you watch my drink? I have to go to the little girls room.”
“Of course,” I replied.
Elizabeth slid off the bar stool and sashayed to the restroom. I say sashayed because when she walked, it was with purpose and attitude. That red top was actually a tunic dress that hugged her slender form over black tights. I caught myself and turned back to the front. When she returned a few minutes later, I couldn’t help but chuckle. Her dress had a black skeleton print on it, which gave the appearance of outlining her skeleton – it fit her perfectly.
Elizabeth smiled as she inched her petite frame back onto the stool. “Were you checking out my skeletal features?”
I felt myself blush. Yes, I was, I thought. “Busted.”
“My ex got it for me; I like it too much to get rid of it.”
“What happened to him?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could. I didn’t want to pry, but she was interesting and it was either make conversation over drinks or watch ESPN in my hotel room. I liked the former.
“It’s a familiar story. She cheated on me so I dumped her ass.”
It was my turn to ask (and I couldn’t help myself), “Why did she cheat on someone that…looks like you?” I covered my mouth and leaned over. “Do you suck in bed?”
She punched me in the shoulder. “Very funny. No, I don’t suck in bed!” she replied, “I’m actually quite skilled…no, it’s because she wanted to have a threesome with another girl and I didn’t. I told her I’d consider a threesome with a guy but not another girl. I don’t know why exactly, it’s just how I felt. Whatever.” She waved her hand then took a long sip.
“So, you like guys too?”
“Really, Josh? That’s your takeaway from my story?”
I thought she was upset, but the smile in her eyes said otherwise. “I believe in equal opportunity. Women and men have their pluses and minuses; so I figure why limit myself?”
We clinked our almost empty glasses. She raised her hand to flag the bartender and ordered us another round.
“Last one for me,” I said, “I have to work in the morning.”
“So, you’re loaded,” she started, “travel a lot for your job…you’re in sales?”
“I don’t know if I’m loaded,” I said. “I do alright..anyways, I’m in acquisitions for a tech company. I basically go around the country, find promising products or companies, and try and acquire them for my company. It’s a win-win. They get the resources to make their product or flesh out their ideas; we get the benefit of that product.”
“Ah, capitalism,” she said, a fake, wistful sound in her voice. “So where does a collector of talent stay in the N-Y-C?”
“The Peninsula, off 5th,” I replied.
“Sweet,” she said, taking a sip from her glass.
“What about you?” I asked. “What do you do?”
“I’m a senior at Parsons studying interior design.”
She talked about how she was originally an art major but realized she really loved the marriage of art and the practicality of design and architecture, so she transferred to Parsons her sophomore year.
“Very cool,” I replied. “What are you going to do when you graduate?”
“Hopefully get a job at an architectural firm and get some experience; then we’ll see where I’m at in a couple of years.”
“Now kocaeli escort bayan I see why this is one of your hangouts,” I said.
“Yeah, I come here – to the actual museum – a lot; the bar, maybe once every few weeks.”
“Well, I’m glad we met,” I said, finishing my drink and dropping my credit card on the bar.
“Me too,” she replied, “You’re alright for an older guy…see, I didn’t say old; I said older. There’s a difference.”
Once the bill was signed, I stood, put on my sport coat that I had draped on my stool, and asked, “Oh, yeah? What difference?”
Elizabeth got off her stool and stood just a few inches from me; she was at least a half-foot shorter. She looked up and said, “Old is old.” She then smiled, “Older can still be hot.”
I think I blushed again. I also felt a twitch in my pants. “Well…I…thanks, I think.”
“Don’t let your ex-wife fuck you up,” she said as we walked out of the restaurant. It wasn’t raining any longer.
“I’ll try not to,” I said. “I’m this way.”
“I’m this way,” she said pointing in the opposite direction with her chin. “How long you in town?” she asked nonchalantly.
She wasn’t even trying and she was the sexiest thing I had ever seen – sinfully young for a guy my age; perfect skin; petite, tight body; and edgy – I thought she was just playing with me, having some fun with a guy her father’s age but I didn’t care.
“Until Friday morning.”
“Good to know.” She turned and then said over her shoulder, “Goodnight, Joshua.”
I was definitely going to hell for the thoughts I was having. Men at my age shouldn’t be thinking of girls Elizabeth’s age like I was at that moment…but I was, and when I got back to my room I thought of Elizabeth some more, and it was good.
Part 2
It was a little after 4:00 when, after a long morning and working lunch, a preliminary deal had been struck that would get my company a foothold in the connected/smart home space. It was time for a little nap, shower, and a drink.
At 5:30, I awoke from my nap, took a shower, and was in the middle of getting dressed when the hotel phone rang.
“Who would be calling me on that phone?” I said aloud. I answered, “Hello?”
“Finally,” a young woman’s voice said in an exaggerated tone. So, not the front desk, I thought.
“Can I help you?” I asked, confused.
“That’s a little forward, Joshua; let’s see how the evening goes.”
Then it dawned on me – the voice, the snark.”Elizabeth?”
“Who else would it be? You got another hot chick calling on you tonight?”
I tried to pull myself together and wrap my head around this odd conversation. “Nope. Apparently, just the one.”
“Well, are you almost ready? I called the hotel an hour ago and they said you had gotten in not too long before that. I gave you plenty of time; what have you been up to?”
“I took a nap; just got out of the shower.”
“Good,” she said. “Are you almost ready?”
I was standing in my underwear and half-buttoned shirt. “Give me 10 minutes.”
“I’ll be in the restaurant bar.”
When I put the receiver down, it took me a moment for it to settle in. Then, without another thought, I fumbled my way through buttoning my shirt and putting on a pair of dark jeans. Throwing on my sport coat, I checked myself in the mirror. It had been four months since I had found out about my wife’s affair; almost five months since I’d last had sex (with my wife). My curiosity was officially piqued. “I don’t know what’s going on,” I said to my reflection, “but go with it.”
When I got to the hotel restaurant’s bar, there were a few people gathered for cocktails, but only one stood out. Sitting cross-legged at the bar was Elizabeth. She wore thick black stilettos, skin-tight capris with thick black and white pinstripes, and a black top that, upon further inspection when I got closer, had a little “peek-a-boo” window that showed off her cleavage. She again wore heavy eye makeup and bright red lipstick that made her beautiful eyes and full lips pop.
“Wow,” was all I could muster as I came up alongside her.
“Thanks,” she said. “Here.” She pushed a cocktail glass toward me. “I ordered you a martini – just how you like it.”
I took a sip. “Thank you. I had no idea you were going to call; I would have made dinner reservations.”
“No need,” she replied, “I made us a reservation at The Modern last night for 7:30.”
“Well, aren’t you the forward thinker. Stay here for another drink or two and then head over?”
“Yes, please,” she replied, taking a healthy sip of her cocktail. “So,” she started, “did you make a truck-load of money today?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” I replied, clinking my glass with hers.
“Then we should definitely celebrate.”
We ordered another round, and after we finished, walked to The Modern. It was only 7:10 when we arrived.
“Another drink or…” Elizabeth took my hand.
“There’s something we need to do that will help make dinner more…relaxing.”
She izmit escort pulled me into the restroom, which I noticed was unisex. There was a row of sinks and vanity mirrors along the left wall; on the right was a row of fully-enclosed (floor to ceiling) stalls for privacy. A woman was at one of the vanities touching up her makeup. Elizabeth motioned for me to go in one of the stalls as she went to a mirror. Confused, though not completely clueless, my heart began racing in my chest. What exactly did this little vixen have in mind?
A moment later, I heard a door open and close, then the door to my “stall” opened. Elizabeth quickly got in, then closed and locked the door behind her. I was about to say something when she put her hand on my mouth. She smelled like vanilla.
“Shhh,” she mouthed.
She took me by the arms and turned us around so that my back was to the door. I couldn’t help it, but my cock instantly became hard in my pants. I wanted her so badly, I wasn’t sure what to do. She was.Pulling my head down to her, she kissed me with a hunger I hadn’t felt in a long time. Her desire couldn’t be faked, and as she reached for the bulge in my jeans, she moaned, then whispered in my ear, “You want me?”
“Yes,” I croaked.
“After dinner,” she whispered, “but I don’t want to rush through dinner so…” She unbuckled my belt, unfastened my jeans, and sat on the lid to the toilet. “…I’m going to ease your suffering.”
Elizabeth pulled my jeans down to my knees. “Did you jerk off last night thinking about me?”
I nodded.
She put her mouth around my shaft, which was still behind the thin cotton of my boxer briefs. I could feel the heat from her breath. “Mmmm,” she moaned, then bit me just hard enough. Fuck, she was making me insane!
Elizabeth unbuttoned the bottom of my shirt and pulled up my undershirt, her hands hot against my skin. She ran her nails down my chest and belly, leaving a trail of scratches in their wake, then continued her motion as she pulled down my underwear. She looked up at me, smiled, then took the engorged head of my manhood between her lips, sucking me into her mouth.It felt so damn good. “Fuck!” I hissed.
She motioned for me to be quiet as we heard someone come into the restroom. That didn’t stop her from taking me back into her mouth, deeper this time, then licking the underside of my cock as she ran her lips along my stiff shaft. I couldn’t believe I was getting a blowjob by a beautiful coed in the Museum of Modern Art!
Elizabeth licked my balls, taking them into her warm mouth, and sucking them in rhythm with her hand stroking my dick. It felt so incredible, I couldn’t remember being so turned on. As she took me deep, she reached up with both hands and played with my nipples, causing them to instantly get hard. How did she know I loved that? She moaned softly, seemingly in response, causing me to get goosebumps all over my skin. I badly wanted to grab her and take her right there, but I knew it would be worth the wait to do it back at the hotel.
She listened for a moment, and when she thought no one was in there with us, she whispered, “Fuck my mouth. I want to feel you banging the back of my throat with that big dick.”
Jesus, I had died and gone to heaven. Without a word, I placed one hand on the back of her head and the other under her chin. Slipping my cock between her beautiful lips, I proceeded to fuck her for all I was worth. Her throat made that incredible gagging sound as she took it all, her arms out, bracing herself against the walls of the stall. I was starting to lose control, and I think she wanted me to; but I wanted her to finish me. I didn’t want to use her mouth; I wanted her to make me come like my wife hadn’t in so long. Before I reached the point of no return, I stopped, caressed her cheek. The look on her face told me she knew what I wanted.
Taking control again, Elizabeth stroked me as she sucked me hard, her hand twisting over the engorged head each time, making me race toward orgasm. She looked up at me as I felt my body hum with anticipation, my fingers tingling with each stroke of her magnificent mouth. It took all of my willpower not to yell out as I felt my manhood swell in her mouth. Elizabeth slowed her rhythm and deepened her stroke, still looking up at me with those green eyes.
I grunted involuntarily and felt my knees buckle as I exploded. She took all of it, her eyes fixed on mine. It was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen. I felt her swallow my load as she continued to suck me off, squeezing every last drop out of me. When she was satisfied that I was completely drained, she licked me clean, pulled up my pants, and maneuvered herself so that she could unlock the door. When the coast was clear, she stepped out and I followed behind her.
Elizabeth pulled out a travel sized mouthwash from her purse and gargled; she then fixed her makeup and washed her hands. “I’m hungry. You?”
“Fuck me,” I said, bewildered and amazed.
“After we eat,” she replied with a smile.
Overcome with desire, I pulled her to me and kissed her softly but deeply, as if I would suffocate without her lips on mine. She moaned into my mouth and wrapped her arms around me as I lifted her off the ground, pulling her to me.