Dichotomy

Writing this made me think of the Pizza Girl character in J. Jaqcues' fantastic webcomic, Questionable Content. None of these characters are based on those and the situation is not one that would likely ever occur in that universe. I just thought I'd give 'em a plug since, you know, QC rocks.

Enjoy!

*************************

Start with hot water.

One of the best parts of growing up is being able to buy things on a whim. No need to ask or explain. So, a clawfoot tub deep enough to really soak myself - and a friend, if necessary - wasn't something I strictly needed. No matter. I wanted it and I got it.

It's the first day of my vacation and everything's arranged, bags packed for the airport tomorrow, reservations confirmed. Sunset played its last few notes and sank behind the skyline almost half an hour ago. All my phones - house, work cell, personal cell - have been turned off. No television chatter, no email chime from the laptop, no PDA, no more anything requiring thought. Just hot, jasmine-scented water; the tub three-quarters full and steaming aromatically in the candlelit master bath, mirrors fogging, something quiet and instrumental on the CD player.

And a knock at the door.

One does not, after all, engineer such an intricately simple evening only to ruin it by cooking.

***

It is fucking cold. I am fucking tired. Mother fucking, cocksmoking Jimmy Vae is making me cover his shift while he goes to a gig with his, get this, Vietnamese punk band.

(It's worse than it sounds. I know it sounds bad, but trust me. WORSE.)

My feet hurt, my ass hurts from the damned broken scooter seat, my last 3 stops didn't tip for shit and my last stop of all is in a fucking skyscraper. Floor 23. I hate heights, I hate winter, I hate this lousy job, I really (really really) hate Vietnamese punk music, and most of all I hate that fucking airwaste Jimmy Vae.

The elevator sways. I pretend just as hard as I can that it isn't.

Long, long hallway with expensive paintings on the walls, real plants in pots by each door. Plush. I'm leaving melty slushy bootprints behind me and I take stubborn pleasure in that. Rich people don't tip. Rich people especially don't tip skinny twentysomething girls with no tits, short hair, too many piercings. At least the night's almost over.

I knock on the door and hope his pizza is cold.

But when the door opens, it isn't a guy. It's a girl. No, it's a woman.

No. A woman.

I rattle off her order & total, running on autopilot, trying not to be too obvious about scoping her out. No tip is one thing, getting jumped by security in the lobby for ogling the rich & famous is another. And she's almost enough to make the rest of the night worthwhile.

Late 30's...maybe early 40's. In shape but not with that scary plastic surgery/gym addict look some older women get. Curvy. Black, black, black hair piled on her head, pinned out of the way but not really done - kind of artless, a few curls hanging down. It looks long. Like it would come down to her waist in back.

Short silk robe, lemon chiffon colored, long long stretch of leg underneath, full breasts, I can smell her jasmine perfume from here, and when she hands me the money I drop it like an idiot. Fucking christ.

I babble out an apology and drop to one knee in the doorway, combing dimes out of the thick carpet, trying not to look up. She laughs, really quiet, and kneels down to help me chase my money.

**********

I had honestly been planning a serene, solitary evening at home. It would have been a time to recharge, to renew my energy, to let go of work and the real world. The adventure was supposed to begin tomorrow, at the airport.

But sometimes you can find adventure at your front door, if you want to.

The girl is adorable. Honestly pretty under the clothes and the attitude, but those things do more to highlight her delicacy than to hide them. Young, tall, slender, almost angular; her mouth full and innocent of lipstick, her eyes lined a sticky liquorice black. Close-cropped blonde hair that I'm already considering running my fingers through.

I think I'm making her nervous. Good.

We kneel together on the soft carpet, gathering the fallen money, and when I hand it back to her I cradle her hands in mine for a moment, holding her still. "No wonder - your hands are freezing, poor thing," I tell her, and stroke them a little, letting my fingertips travel up to her wrist and back. Horribly unfair of me. She won't look up - so young, trying so hard to look brave.

I want to put another look in her eyes.

***********


Her hands are so warm, a soft heat that just sets me on fire everywhere. I've been turned on before - fucked plenty of pretty girls my own age, being bi is like the big thing now, every little freshman chick wants to get down. But this is different, this is new. When she stands up the robe shifts, flashing a creamy pale stretch of inner thigh; I want to force her back, pin her down, bite and kiss and lick and devour.

I'm still kneeling, looking up; she's standing, looking down and smiling. She knows.

"Are you in, or out?" she asks, kind of playfully impatient, like you'd talk to a cat that wouldn't make up its mind. A recalcitrant pussy. Turning, walking away from me into the apartment, leaving me on my knees in the open doorway, and as she walks - a barefoot, hip-rolling sway - the robe slides slowly down her back until only her hips are covered. There's a tattoo. Crimson flowers, hibiscus maybe, from the nape of her neck twining down all the way to the small of her back.

I have never stood up so fast in my entire life.

***********

She closes the door carefully...doesn't let it slam. Good girl. I hear her boots in the hallway, following, hunting me.

Seconds later I can feel her right behind me. I saw the lust in her eyes, before - so raw, powerful, masculine hunger tempered only a little with her insecurity, her youth. Soon she'll be reassured.

We're in the sitting room now, soft light and soft furniture. I reach the center of the room and turn, naked to the waist, feeling how the aroused flush has travelled over my skin, making my nipples hard, beginning that wonderful slick feeling between my thighs. I love being exposed.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Dora," she says. So quiet. She's standing very still, with a hunter's focused intent; staring at me. One or two steps and I'm right there in her personal space, right in front of her, smiling up into her pretty grey eyes, gone dark with arousal right now.

"Dora, would you like to have me?" I ask her, just as quietly. Holding her gaze. "I know that you would."

"You want me to?" she says, low-voiced. Eager. "Have you. Any way I want."

Closing my eyes, slowly, deliberately, on a long inhale, that deep tension growing, the last few moments at the very top of the rollercoaster. "Oh yes," I tell her, and take that last step forward, pressing the length of my body against hers. Feeling her slender, firm, trembling with lust for me. "I do want you to...please?"

Gently I press my mouth against the sharp line of her collarbone, and taste her skin.

********

We're on the floor. I don't remember pulling us down to the floor, but here we are. I'm still clothed, still in my fucking boots of all things, but it doesn't matter, because she's underneath me, lush and hot and bare with the robe fallen open; we are kissing, have been kissing for who knows how long, these incredible deep, wet, mindbending kisses. I pull her tongue into my mouth, bite down - not too hard, just teasing - and she moans helplessly, her body twisting under me, I made her do that.

So many things I'm going to make her do.

I've got my legs spread wide, knees jammed into the carpet, holding her thighs open around mine. It's good to be tall. One hand to support myself, the other free to slide across her body. Cupping her breasts, gently kneading - no silicone, so soft and perfect in my hand, the nipples large and firm and perfect for playing with, and when I do that, she whines. Right into my mouth. Incredible. We're both panting.

I let my hand slide lower, across her gently rounded belly, fingertips dipping into her navel just for a second before passing by. Curving down, short soft fur against my palm, and slick, hot, soft...gliding fingertips just between her lips, all the way down and then back up to hover over her clit. Then again.

She breaks the kiss, letting her head fall back onto the thick carpet. "Please..." she moans, begging. This beautiful woman is begging me to play with her. To take, to have. No need to ask or explain.

I'm absolutely on fire.

"Say that again," I growl against the side of her neck, in between little nibbling kisses that are slowly ramping up to be hard, biting, sucking kisses. "Beg me again."

"Oh please - please Dora..."

She sounds so lost, breathy...when I look, her eyes are wide and dark, her pretty face all flushed, all that long hair falling out of its pins around her on the carpet. Oh, she wants it so bad...

Gently, so gently, I spread her open, getting my fingertips nice and wet. Slippery. Then moving up, slowly up, until I feel her round swollen little clit under my fingers, till I feel the pulsing of her heart through her sex.

Now, she can have what she wants.

I feel elevated, indulgent, strong...watching her bite her full lower lip, writhe and buck under my touch. There's something about taking this beautiful, elegant woman and turning her into, well...

"Look at this," I whisper to her in counterpoint to my fingers sliding back and forth over her clit, finding her rythm, pushing her higher. "Such a pretty lady in such a pretty, fancy place, and here you are on the carpet getting screwed by a stranger."

She closes her eyes, turns her face away, but her body is still rocking with mine. Her heels digging into the carpet, helping her move. Breath getting faster and faster, and the little noises she's making, kitten mewls.. so fucking hot.

"Gonna come for me?" I ask her, and turn my wrist a little. Sliding two long fingers deep inside, where she is velvet soft and furnace hot, trying to keep my thumb against her clit while I...yeah...fuck her. It takes coordination, but I've had practice.

Anyway, it doesn't take long.

**********

For a while, everything is dark and hazy. The world has been wrapped in cotton and packed away, waiting for my body to stop throbbing, for my breath to slow. It's wonderful.

Eventually, though, I come back to myself. Dora is beside me, sitting crosslegged on the carpet, watching me and nibbling on her fingertip. That was just inside me, I think, and shiver. She's absolutely delightful.

Catlike, deliberate, I stretch out, arching my back against the carpet. Her silence changes, becoming watchful and predatory. That's a good game, one I can play.

I roll onto my belly, then to hands and knees, and crawl to my lover, moving sinuously...letting her watch. Leaving the robe behind on the floor. Slowly I come to her and move into her body, nuzzling, curling naked into her lap. Looking up at her with big innocent eyes.

"Thank you," I say, and she grins. It's unexpectedly infectious, and suddenly we're laughing together.

I reach up and trail a finger along her row of silver earrings, the metal cold and slick under my skin. "I've had mine..." I tell her, in a Very Serious Voice. "Now, young lady, I believe it's time for you to have yours."

First, the boots. I kneel in front of her, sitting back on my heels, and take one of her legs in my hands. Playing the good little geisha. I can tell that she's enjoying it. While I'm carefully unlacing, she slips out of her t-shirt - wasn't there a jacket? I don't remember when that came off - and sits barechested, her breasts small and white, perfect pink nipples with a little silver bar through each one.

Boots set aside, I push her legs apart, lean over and unbuckle the wide leather belt. Jeans underneath, that's easy, and plain white panties under that. Her skin, the angular grace of her body, are making me warm again, and I take every opportunity to touch, with fingertips or palms or the backs of my hands. She's silent as I work, breathing slow and deep. Watching.

Finally, the clothes are gone and we are exposed to each other. She's lovely. Sitting with knees bent, apart so I can see every inch of her, arms resting on her knees with false casualness. Her fingertips are twitching a little.

I let my hand rest against her ankle, sliding up slowly to her knee. "Smooth," I murmur, and smile. She's a little ticklish behind the knee, but I leave it alone...maybe later. "You're smooth all over."

Leaning forward, silent, she presses her mouth to mine. A slow deep kiss, not as rapacious as before, but still I feel her need, her tension. The soft, almost subsonic moan, the nip at my lower lip as I pull away. The hand at the back of my neck, long fingers curling gently into my hair.

We look at each other for a long moment; then she presses against the back of my head, pulling me in close, and low. "Do it," she hisses, and oh, I have no objection at all.

Her cunt is neat, shaven, another tiny piercing through the hood of her clit, and soaking wet everywhere. Gentle at first, I lick at her, tasting and exploring, letting my body slide down to lie curled on the floor between her thighs. Sliding my arms around her hips, feeling her tugging urgently at my hair.

She doesn't want gentle. Doesn't want slow. If she was a man she would be deep in my throat right now, holding my head and fucking into me, making me take it...the thought makes me whine, and I bury my face into her, just as eager for it as she is.

She curses and rocks and I rock with her, riding every hip thrust and every wracking shudder, until she comes. Her body goes tense and hard, like marble, she stutters and goes silent, and I open my eyes, watching over the flat plane of her stomach, watching until she cries out like a child and goes limp. Hands sliding away from me to fall beside her.

Perfect.

******

I'd have probably kicked me out afterwards, but we spend the whole evening hanging out. Sitting naked together on her expensive rug, drinking champagne - who actually has champagne just sitting around? - and eating pizza right out of the box. We talk, and it's nice.

After, there's this huge bathtub, it's insane. Big enough for both of us. I get to wash her all over, and it's great, she feels incredible all soft and lush and slick with soap. She calls me a tomcat and shows me where I scratched her upper back, when she was eating me. I guess I should be sorry; instead I feel pleased, kind of proud. Here's this beautiful expensive person and I've left my mark on her.

But she's got a plane to catch tomorrow, and I figure that's that. We exchange numbers, but I won't call. There's a class barrier, no matter what tonight was like, she won't want some scruffy little dyke tagging along at her heels, screwing up business lunches.

I go home. The apartment is empty. Jimmy calls, to tell me how the gig went; I tell him to fuck himself, and his bandmembers, and whatever else he can fit up his enormous ass besides his head, and I tell him a few other things too, and then I hang up on him.

...and a week and a half later, she calls.