The Possibilities - Desire - A Collection of Short Stories (2 page)

“You must come here a lot,” Scott
said, a tiny bit uncomfortably.  The only times he had ever operated in
this kind of environment he had done so in his dress blues, and at the
insistence of his commanders. It was
not
the kind of place he would have
come to voluntarily.  He hid his dislike for Nettie’s sake.  
Just because he didn’t like it didn’t mean he couldn’t function in it.

His attention was drawn to the
entrance of the club, where a dozen or so nattily dressed men in their late
twenties or early thirties made a grand entrance, waving and calling out to
others inside.  They were what Scott called ‘cookie cutter’ men from Wall
Street.  All were wearing exquisitely cut conservative pin striped three
piece suits, either dark gray or dark blue, power ties, and hand lasted
shoes.  Their hair was short and expensively cut and each and every one of
them had a gold chain tucked into the fob pocket of their vests.  Scott
would have bet his next paycheck that the ends of the chains bore Phi Beta
Kappa keys from one Ivy League university or another.  One of them in
particular seemed to pay particular attention to them, and Nettie fidgeted
briefly as he approached.

“Well hello there Nettie,” Lawrence
Willingham Forrest IV said, his broad Boston accent deliberately
exaggerated.  Scott supposed he did that to call attention to his Harvard
school tie.  Lawrence extended a limp hand to Scott, who stood up. 
“I see we’re showing our tits to the riff raff tonight.”  He smiled
unpleasantly at Scott who promptly crushed the outstretched hand in his own.

“I suggest you apologize to the
lady,” he said easily, showing no sign of strain at all.  He leaned
forward and whispered, “Or I’m going to stomp a mud hole in your ass right here
in front of all your fancy friends.”  No one else heard what Scott said,
and his face never lost its friendly smile.  Lawrence turned white as the
napkins on the champagne cart, apologized, and excused himself.  He
managed not to run until he was nearly out the front door of the club.

Nettie was hiding a smile behind the
napkin she held to her face.  “What did you say to him Scott?”

“Nothing,” Scott said easily, “I
just complimented him on his suit.”

“I’ve never seen Lawrence Willingham
Forrest IV silenced so quickly in my life,” she giggled.  “I hope you
didn’t hurt his feelings,” she said, “his family is very influential on Wall
Street.”

“Is he an old friend of yours?”
Scott asked.

“Very old,” she said, “we started
kindergarten together.  Once upon a time our parents hoped that we would
unite two very old families but it never worked out.”  She didn’t mention
that they had dated for several years.

The evening smoothed out after that,
their stories fascinating to each other, coming as they did from the poles
apart lives they had lead.  Scott was interested as she described the
lives and histories of the upper crust of New York society, and she listened in
rapt fascination as he described to her the cultures and sights he had seen
during his career.  His service had not been solely in the Middle East, he
had also served in Central and South America.

They danced when the lights dimmed
and the waiters stopped serving snacks and light meals.  The music was
jazz, surprising Scott. There was a really good live band, and a very sexy
black woman who sounded enough like Bobbie Holliday to fool any fan.  The
smoky, sensual music stoked the fires burning in both of them, and Scott pulled
Nettie ever closer as they danced.

They had started dancing very
properly, but Nettie had pressed him, maneuvering him further into the dark
corners of the dance floor.  Scott was impressively light on his feet for
such a large man, and he was a terrific dancer.  Nettie leaned against his
barrel chest, exulting in the feel of his muscles against her unfettered
breasts, covered only by the thin black cloth of her dress. After she had let
him get used to the pressure of her breasts, she had pushed her belly forward,
gently rubbing against his erection, and following him as he tried to back
away.  He was worried at first that she would feel him and be disgusted,
but the insistent way she rubbed against him soon let him know that Nettie was
not only acutely aware of his erection, she was enjoying the effect she was
having on him.

After about an hour of dancing,
Nettie reached down and grasped him firmly, arranging him in his trousers so
that the tip was pointed at his navel.  “There,” she sighed in a throaty
voice, “that will be more comfortable for both of us.”  Incredibly,
without anyone seeming to notice, she was hanging from his neck, and they were
surreptitiously dry humping on the shadowy dance floor.

Nettie threw her head back, and she
was breathing heavily through her parted lips.  The theatrical lights in
the club cast an aura around the wavy golden hair that cascaded down over her
shoulders in a soft cloud.  The lights reflected in the liquid depths of
her violet eyes, and her perfect white teeth bit gently at her lower lip as she
pushed her hips high on the covered crown of his penis and came.  As many
exotic women as Scott had encountered in his travels, he had never had an
experience as erotic as this one.  “Do you need to sit down,” he asked
gently, awed by her circumspect but very public orgasm. 

Nettie shook her head no. For her,
sex was a drug, an aphrodisiac that simply left her wanting more…and the more
public it was, the more satisfying.  When she was younger and more
reckless, she had been rash and impulsive, getting drunk and naked at the least
excuse.  It was all very ordinary in her circle, with each pampered
princess trying to outdo the other.  Summers in the Hamptons, and the rest
of the year in Manhattan.  They had been rich, and young, and very much in
love with the
idea
of being in love.  It had been during this
period that she had actually dated Lawrence Willingham Forrest IV. Cocaine and
booze had flowed like water, and high quality weed had been more common than
Marlboros.  These days she had social obligations that required certain
standards of behavior.  Her earlier transgressions were considered de riguer
for young ladies of her station and were never mentioned after she and her
mother had ‘the talk’ in her mid twenties.  Now she had to satisfy her
desires more covertly, like the delicious frottage she had just engaged in with
Scott.  She had learned to do it that way by watching the older matrons at
the country club, summering in the Hamptons.  Nettie was not a bad woman,
but she
was
a product of her upbringing.  What she felt for Scott
was real, more real than anything she had ever felt in her life, but she knew
in her heart that she would never be able to give up the playful and casual
aspects of her sex life.  Even Lawrence Willingham Forrest IV had accepted
that.

Nettie’s hand had eventually crept
inside Scott’s trousers, her hand cupping and exploring him, finally accessing
bare skin.  She brought him to the edge several times, suddenly stopping
by squeezing him tightly and holding him until he breathlessly subsided. 
She already knew how tonight would end, she had planned it that way.  It
was not something she enjoyed; she merely tolerated it because it gave her
unlimited power over men.  It was for that reason alone that she pretended
to love doing it, making the appropriated loving noises as she opened her mouth
wide for her lovers.  For most of them, it was the most intimate and personal
gift a woman could bestow on them…and they adored her for it.  For Scott,
it was a near religious experience.

She kissed him again in the shadows
of the darkest area on the stage, and then briefly brushed off her knees. 
Smiling up at him in the dim light, “I have to go tonight,” she
whispered.  “I
so
wanted to go to your place, but we’ve stayed here
longer than I intended.”  She placed her fingers on his chest and kissed
him gently once more.  “I’m sorry Scott, will you take me to your place
tomorrow night and make love to me?”  Helplessly, Scott nodded his head.

She left before he did, insisting
that she would take a cab home.  Scott sat alone at the darkened table,
nursing a double Scotch and daydreaming of Nettie, exactly as she had
planned.  She wanted him to build up his dreams for the following night,
she wanted him at the peak of his desire for her…she wanted him to give the
wildest sexual performance of his life.  There was something about this
man that affected her deeply, and it was entirely possible that he was
the
one
.  She could barely wait for their next meeting.

Nettie had
not
accounted for
the frustrated and fractured personality of the positively anal Lawrence
Willingham Forrest IV.  Humiliated, he had left the club rather than face
the laughter and snide comments of his friends, and he sat in the back seat of
his Bentley until he saw Nettie leave.  Grimly, he got out of the Bentley
and walked to the alley beside the club, where he hunted and located the
remains of a two by four in the trash there.  Holding it in his hands like
a club, he silently waited for the big man in the blue blazer.

Scott was still daydreaming of
Nettie when he left the club, checking the oversized face of his Seiko when
some instinct made him raise his left hand.  The two by fur glanced off
his muscular forearm and struck the back of his head.  He heard a panicked
gasp and caught a glimpse of the panicking face Lawrence Willingham Forrest IV
just before the wooden stud caught him a more direct blow on the back of his
skull.

AMBUSHED

Lawrence took one look at the
sprawling behemoth on the sidewalk before he turned and ran.  He’d planned
more for the insulting bark who’d had the temerity to trespass on his personal
turf.  It didn’t matter that Nettie had broken it off with him more than a
year before; it would be over when
he
decided it would be over.

Scott awakened feeling as if he had
been run over by a water buffalo.  His head ached and the light coming in
through the window in the hospital room hurt his eyes.  He opened them
anyway, meeting the bright intelligent brown eyes of a nurse who was watching
him curiously.  He grinned ruefully.  “Did anyone get the number of
the train that hit me?” he asked her.

Her name tag said ‘Linda’, and
she wasn’t smiling.  “You’re old enough to know better than to be brawling
outside a club in Manhattan at one o’clock in the morning,” she said
sternly.  “Now that you’re awake, we’ll have Doctor Seasons check you for
a concussion.  When you wouldn’t wake up, we got very concerned.” 
She looked rather put out with him…but she was very pretty.

“I’m okay with waiting for the Doc,
ma’am, but I wasn’t brawling, I was ambushed.”

Linda looked at him curiously. 
“I’m not sure I understand the difference,” she sniffed.

“You would if you were a soldier,”
he said, his head still smarting.  “And for your general fund of
information, Nurse Linda, recent combat trauma studies conducted by the
military in Iraq and Afghanistan suggest that sleep after blunt force head
trauma reduces the risk of permanent damage from concussion.”

“You’re a soldier?” she asked. 
“I kind of figured you were a cop, from the scars and all I mean,” she said
with a faint blush.  She had taken her time sponging him off and fitting
him into the hospital Johnny.  Even with the scars and the obvious bullet
holes he was gorgeous as hell.  Her face went back to its businesslike
mask. “After Doctor Seasons sees you the police want to talk with you.” 
She turned to leave.

“Is there any chance I can get
something to eat or a cup of coffee?” he asked.  “I’m starving.”

Linda turned and gave him a
smile.  “Breakfast is over, but I’ll see if I can scare something up for
you.  The doctor will have to clear you before you can eat it
though.”  She giggled, “I’m not supposed to give you anything to drink,
but in light of the useful information you gave me about blunt force head
trauma and sleep, I’ll see if I can’t sneak a cup in here…but its hospital
coffee, it’s not really good.”

“As long as it’s hot, black, and
wet,” he said.

She was back in a few minutes,
holding a ceramic mug of steaming liquid instead of the Styrofoam cup usual in
hospitals.  He took it gratefully, noticing the name ‘Linda’ stenciled on
the side.  “I’d have been back sooner, but I had to make fresh and wash
the cup.”  Unlike normal hospital coffee, which either tasted like hot
water or mud, the coffee was strong and aromatic.  “It’s my own blend,”
she said perkily, and my dad always said the only way to drink coffee was in a
ceramic mug.”

“Your dad sounds like a man after my
own heart,” Scott said, “thanks.”

Linda looked down at the floor, but
she was smiling.  “My dad was a soldier,” she said, “First Ranger
Battalion.”

“Was?” Scott asked.

“He was killed in the first Gulf
War,” she said.

Silently, Scott raised his cup to
the memory of her father, a warrior’s salute.

They sat comfortably in silence,
waiting for the Doctor.  Doctor Seasons examined Scott thoroughly and then
reviewed the x-rays carefully.  “We were a little worried about you when
you wouldn’t wake up last night when they brought you in.” Scott quickly told
him of the recent study, and when Doctor Seasons looked dubious, Scott gave him
the name of the physician who had conducted the study.  Seasons looked at
Scott in surprise.  “Hell, I
know
that guy, worked with him at
Walter Reed!”