1 comments/ 10207 views/ 1 favorites A Pick-Up that Lined Up to a Hookup By: PayDay Author's note: This is my story, I wrote it, stealing is lame. If you don't like it, don't read it. Thanks for any feedback, votes, or favorites. This is the whole story at once. All characters are over eighteen. Hope you enjoy: * "Hello there." The newly arrived average man was doing just as she expected, and he started off with the greeting. "Excuse me?" Bridgette would be having none of this, not tonight; her bitch face was on in full force, masking the rest of her from prying eyes. She just wanted to get drunk, arrested, or kicked out of the bar; all three would be better. "I said: 'Hello there.' " The man spoke calmly, cutting through the erratic music. "I heard you." Smug would be a good word for the tone. "Then why did you say: 'Excuse me?' " The quite average, not so handsome, and blatantly too bold fellow asked Bridgette. "Because I thought it was obvious that I didn't want to talk to you." "I want to talk to you, and it's only obvious that you need a friend." The average man pointed to the two empty shot glasses with the dollar in front of her on the bar, and the half empty all brown liquor glass in her hand. "Bourbon?" he asked. Bridgette, for the first time in a long while, looked around from her seat at the bar. All she could see were flicking lights, backs, asses, far off VIP seating, a DJ, and hair. There could only be one explanation. "Did you come over here just to bother me? Let me guess.. You've been watching me from afar and I'm sooo beautiful, blah blah blah..." She was spinning the glass in both of her hands, watching gravity work on the liquid and ignoring the average man, ready to cry. "Actually I came over here to get a drink. You're the one who picked that seat." His words made her bitch face real, and she turned to him with all intentions of yelling in his face. ...but then she saw his eyes. The average man had a gaze to melt a heart; a gaze that said: "You can only hurt yourself at this point." Only a whimper, or a loud breath, but only a syllable, came from Bridgette's mouth while she lost herself - and the bitch face - to his eyesight for a moment. She could only take so much, though, and she stared down towards his belt, then at the part of the bar in front of where he leaned, and then to her glass, again. He was well dressed in a white tailored collared shirt with undone cuffs, and his dirty blonde hair was a mess. "Why are you talking to me then?" She said, resetting the glass to spinning in her hands, taking the idle sip at random. "Because you picked that seat." With that, the average man finger-called the nearby bartender: A happy, overly perky, overly blonde young woman, dressed in tight black and white. "Hey there, handsome, what can I get you?" The bartender bounced her big chest when she arrived, and after she spoke; she was tip hunting, cleavage out. "Two tall shots of Tuaca and a gin and tonic, top shelf, with a lime." The average man dropped a crisp fifty on the bar after folding a crease along the length of it's center; the cash seemed to appear from nowhere. "You got it, cutie," the bartender bounced away. "What? You're not even going to attempt to buy me a drink?" Bridgette said indignantly in the quietest whisper, eliciting no response from the average man short of his turned head, in spite of the fact that he had heard her. He was still leaning on the bar. "So what's you name?" The average man asked, using his free hand to spin the coaster the bartender had left. "Seriously?" Bridgette, all appalled, looked his way again. She could not give him the bitch face this time around; she just did not have enough left, and Bridgette was almost becoming glad for the distraction he provided. She was tired enough for this, but just so. "Don't you want to know my name?" The average man asked as the bartender came back with his drinks. Amazingly, she had spilled something on her chest, oh so very near to where her nipple would be. "Sure, handsome.. What is it?" the bartender spoke while snagging his money from the bar and bouncing to the nearby register. "He wasn't talking to you," Bridgette said in her head, silently, to herself, about to start a catfight with the blonde bimbo, her total opposite from chest to skin. "Don't spoil it, lady," the average man said to the bartender - loud enough to be heard over the terrible club music; just loud enough to snap up Bridgette's attention. Her overly fluffy, crinkled and shimmering, coffee hair stayed in place for a moment as her head turned, like a shampoo commercial; the mass covering one of her green eyes for an instant before it went. "Whatever," the bartender said, dropping thirty on the bar, and lingering a second too long as she watched his face. "You can keep the five you didn't give me," the average man said, never looking the bartender's way and scooping the lime out of his drink to squeeze it. He dropped the lime back into the glass, took a sip, set it down, stirred it, and looked over to Bridgette. He left the thirty on the bar while the bartender walked away shyly. "So what's you're name?" The average man re-asked her. "Fine... it's Bridgette." She was still watching the level fluid in the clear tilted glass; her words came out as a sigh, almost deep. "Hello, Bridgette," the average man uttered while he flicked his free left hand and bowed his head. Next he moved from the bar, putting his right hand out and resuming his posture against the curved surface before he continued to speak. "My name is William, I'm glad to meet you," he left his right hand in the air, waiting for her, with his left fingers hooking right under the edge of his belt. (ha) Bridgette turned to look William's way, wondering what he was up to, but instead she forgot about so many nameless troubles. The smile on his face, slightly sad, was obviously addictive when matched with his eyes. Before she knew what was happening, she was taking his hand. He didn't shake it, instead he grasp her fingers, squeezing ever so slightly, as if hugging them. Her hand tingled after he let go - in the nicest kind of pins-and-needles. William slid one of the two tall shot glasses towards her, the amber liquid catching her eye; they bumped hands as she reached for it, Bridgette looking up at him with curiosity on her face. "Don't worry," he smiled again, feeding her only addiction, "there's no Rufies. It will make you feel better." With that, he grabbed the other tall shot glass, touched it to the one he'd given her, and downed it in a long slow sip. Bridgette watched William roll the liquid on his tongue before he swallowed, thereafter taking in a deep breath. When he exhaled, Bridgette could only smell caramel. He still leaned on the bar, barely sitting on his tall legged chair, with his eyes closed since the shot. "So what happened to you?" he asked, seeming to ignore the club noises all around and speaking in a low tone that caused her to lean his way. "What do you mean?" She still held her shot. "Well, you look wounded," he said to her with newly opened eyes, all seriousness below his five o'clock shadow. Bridgette's face went downtrodden, wondering if she were so obvious. She spun back into the proper position in her seat. "I am," she said in near silence, and then downed the shot with a thrown back head. When the glass hit the bar, she let out a noise of pure agony and disgust. It was loud enough to attract the temporary attention of most around; along with the word "slut" and some laughter. She stared at him, aghast in appearance and at the flavor overbearing her pallet. He was smiling again. "Just wait." he spoke in the perfect tone. "Relax, just wait, you'll see." He had his hand raised slightly, almost trying to calm her physically with the gesture. Bridgette had no choice but to wait as the urge to throw up leveled out and almost came to fruition. Before it did, it stopped altogether: The world slowly changed into a caramel and vanilla flavored landscape. The noise permeated her every sense; making her eyes water, and warming her tummy in the best possible way. "What the fuck..." Bridgette whispered out, licking her lips and feeling fire within as she watched his smile form sugared words. "Indeed." He uttered, grabbing his other drink and taking a sip. "So what happened?" The hint of sadness showed itself to Bridgette in a wisp. "I don't want to talk about it." She didn't. Her watered eyes almost began to cry with the new additions, forcing her to turn back to her glass. He scooted his chair closer to her proximity, taking up the same position he was in, but only the shortest distance away from her body; he brought more tingles. "Then let's talk about something else." He said with understanding, lightening the mood in a palpable way. "Like what?" Bridgette could only think of her misery. "How about we go with the same old?" He too now looked at his drink; he played and absently stirred with the small red straw as the glass sat upon the bar coaster. "Yeah.. ok.." Bridgette whispered, still fighting the urge to cry. "Soya from around here?" She said not looking his way, and almost laughed at the stupidity of it all despite her inner turmoil. "I was. Not these days. You?" He spoke and then sipped his drink, resuming the stirring after. Bridgette sipped, as well, in series. "Yeah, I'm a city kid. I've lived here all my life." She was still speaking softly. "So what brings you back to town?" "I don't want to talk about it." His words were pungent. "We were being cheesy, remember?" William was trying not to look her way. His words caught her curiosity for the second time of the busy Friday evening. She studied his profile as he tried not to look her way. "Right... Sorry... So, what do you do?" "Believe it or not, I'm an archeologist." "Really?" The word held no excitement either way. "So.. what.. you dig up dead things all day?" Bridgette watched him unnoticeably flinch at the key word. "Basically. Sometimes I write about it. What do you do?" William had finally returned his face to hers with his question, bringing back the hazel embrace of his vision. "I'm-n.. an RN," she sighed, "..well, was, until the stupid merger..." William was not sure if she was talking to herself or not. "You got fired?" He asked, curious at sudden depth combined with the 'stunning while she's angry' earlier on. She really was a beautiful woman. "The term is downsized, Bill," she said, sipping her drink after. "Then you're still an RN, you're just unemployed." His smile came just before she went fiendish for it. "So is that what happened to you? I thought you didn't want to talk about it?" He asked her seriously, casually sipping his drink and examining it before setting it down and turning his attention back her way. She had been sitting slightly turned in his direction; she still was, but now full of intrigue at exactly how it was that she had begun to spill her guts to him. "Let's just say that's where it started, the middle is the worst part, and it ends with me here, single, and alone." She slammed her drink when she finished, listening to his following words while she did so. "You're not alone. You've got me, and that means I'm not alone." He left his finish to hang. The two sat in the silence of the club music and combined mumbled conversations for a good length. "Why is it that you can't get drunk fast enough, especially when you want to." Bridgette, at least a quart low, needed more alcohol to drown her sorrows; she was also broke, the dollar on the bar was a tip. "I plan on it." "Plan on what?" Bridgette asked, staring his way and holding her empty glass. "On getting wasted. I also have a mind to start a fight, maybe get kicked out of this place, or arrested, or something..." William began looking around the club ceiling, as if what he was looking for was hidden there in the various places between the awful lighting. His drink was almost gone. "Are you staying in a hotel?" Bridgette had had enough of this club. "I am." William looked at her, curious, with the slightest hint of light smile, more so addictive that full on. "Does it have a bar?" She was still holding her empty glass. "It does." William pulled his phone out of a pocket. It was sleek, and black, with the buttons invisible. "Then if you take me there and get me drunk, I'll give you something better to do." Bridgette said while thinking: "Getting fucked is just as good as getting arrested." She would justify it any way she could to not feel the way she did. William hit a seemingly random button on his phone, an instant later speaking: "Shortly.. no." He hit another seemingly random button, put the phone away, and offered Bridgette his grip. She was wondering why he never said "hello" or "goodbye" to the person on the phone as he guided her, at her side, from the club; William was holding her hand and the small of her back. He had left the thirty on the bar; Bridgette carried no purse or accessories. *** The noise of the city and traffic echoing through the endlessly tall buildings equaled the volume of the club; it was simply the exchange of one annoyance for another. The doorman un-clicked the 'rope' as they approached the bottom of the stairs from the open club entrance. Some snickers were heard from the line, mostly from women waiting to get in; they were appalled by her short fluorescent yellow bikini strapped dress, bright orange sneakers, white ankle socks, and an obvious lack of underwear beneath the sheer material. "She looks like a prostitute," was barely heard above the noise of the surroundings, just loud enough to hurt Bridgette's feelings and drown out the word "clown". William squeezed her hand in response as they walked down the cheap red carpet and towards the boulevard. A black limousine pulled up to the curb when they were halfway there; the car door was held open by the time they arrived. "Take me to the hotel, please, and play something beautiful along the way, Terrance." William spoke to the chauffeur while he assisted an awestruck Bridgette with entry. "Yes, sir," Terrance responded promptly, closing the door after William was in. William settled into the center of the rear seat, spreading his arms across the back and relaxing, waiting for her. "A limo huh?" Bridgette, sitting across from him in rear facing seat, only had negative on her face even if the mood was light. "You don't like to travel in style?" He asked, offering his own sad smile for her pleasure. The joke that wasn't a joke finally brought a genuine grin to Bridgette's complexion. She reached over to the in-car bar and snatched one of many etched glass flasks. In turn, she stood inside the small space, pointed her barely covered bottom towards his face, and fell onto the seat on his left side; shortly after she tucked herself under his arm and moved it to her bare shoulder. Her bright shoes looked comical next to his glimmering black leathers; her bright putrid hued dress contrasted even more so against his tailored, and cuffed, black slacks. Her tight nipples looked dark, as well as her full lower triangle of hair, both visible beneath the wrinkled fabric of the revealing skirt. Her skin to match the raven disposition glowed continuously against the city lights streaming into the chariot. Bridgette took a heavy swig of the burning contents of the flask, passing it to William when she finished; she laid the hand on his firm abdomen shortly after. The more feels she went for, the more she cursed herself for judging. "It's ok.. I guess..." She spoke as she watched the tops of the building pierce the night sky through the open sunroof. Her false mocking tone brought a small humorous huff from William in response. He turned to stare and watch her sit in silence. The soft violin concerto was the only thing heard for the duration of the smooth ride. *** "I thought you said you were an archeologist?" Bridgette was stunned by the hotel. The flags and lighting alone told of the luxury, the doorman's attire bragged of it. "Thank you, Terrance. I won't be needing the car for the rest of the evening." William had heard her. "Yes sir, Dr. Walther, sir. Good evening." Terrance bowed slightly after closing the door to the limo. "To you as well, Terrance," William offered his arm to Bridgette; she was still carrying the half-empty flask from the limo, though the stopper was gone to the back seat. She accepted his arm and the escort through the held-open gold trimmed glass door. "I am," he said to the clicking of his soles against the finished marble artwork of the hotel lobby floor. "Well, was... Just because I like to dig does not mean I'm broke." His smile lingered all the way to the elevator they did not wait for. "I'll say," Bridgette spoke as they stepped into the elevator - with an included bellhop - which had better carpet than her apartment. She ignored the mystery in his words for the sake of luxury and pleasure to stifle her screaming emotions. "Penthouse, sir?" The bellhop actually had a snooty tone. William only nodded in reply as the doors closed. Bridgette, almost William's height, ran her finger through his soft messy hair while she squeezed his bicep with the other hand all the way to the top of the hotel. The bellhop actually had a snooty look on his face as he watched Bridgette's touch in the reflective gold mirror surfaces whilst William drank from the stolen etched glass flask. *** "If you're hungry, there's some food on the table over there," William pointed after he unbuttoned the second button of his shirt. He slipped off his shoes and made way towards the bar in the massive open hotel penthouse. Only the bedroom and the bathroom were hidden behind walls. Bridgette, now carrying the nearly half full flask, kicked off her sneakers into random directions and walked to a table - quite a distance from the crafted bar - next to the windows overlooking the balcony and a large portion of the city. Bridgette pulled the lids off of the three Sterling trays on the long table: fruits, breads, meats, pastries, and cheeses galore wafted her senses. Her stomach was roaring as she pushed the flask into the free hand of the approaching William. 'Diving in' would be an understatement; her lifelong front of etiquette had disappeared earlier on from her many traumas; now her finish vanished into oblivion with her hunger. She had an apple in one hand and a piece of sliced turkey in the other while attempting to eat them both at once with partial success. William smiled at her natural reaction, setting down a mixed drink, with two symmetrical cubes of clinking ice, onto the table for her to imbibe, and then walked with the flask to the bar to make a drink of his own. "RooooOH, MTHankf FU!" she said through her chews; the turkey was traded for a piece of cheese. William couldn't help but see her ease and grace as she wantonly filled various voids. "No problem, it's all complimentary. They really like it when you spend money. That stuff," he pointed to the table, "is just to get me to spend more. I think it's all gourmet as well." Bridgette shrugged her shoulders, a piece of carrot hanging from her lips. "It's good, I had some earlier," William finished with a smile, watching her scan the table. "RNo CHiddin chits gwud," she said with a mouthful of bread, looking around the panoramic view of the city. "WIt's Relleh Bwutifufl Hrr." She said, finally swallowing her food, and sipping her drink. "What's that?" William said to her, smiling with half of his mouth as he approached her, and not understanding a word. Bridgette gasp for a breath, still feeling terrible, but outwardly showing it was not nearly as bad if well distracted. "Sorry, sorry..." She was slightly hunched forward in the light, holding her drink down and kissing the right side of her right wrist in an attempt to clean her lips; she probably should have gotten a napkin. A Pick-Up that Lined Up to a Hookup "I said: 'It's really beautiful here.' I've never been to a place like this." she spoke while walking towards the wall of windows, looking around with the half an apple and drink in her hands. She still had her nearly dirty white mini socks on, and the color of the dress really was hideous, but William, instead, was watching her body's penchant for long legs on a slim frame with the slightest hints of muscle definition; her breasts were almost big enough to bounce - but that would surely ripple - but still be accented by the dress. She looked like a runner despite the tale of her hideous training sneakers to 'match' her attire. "You're boyfriend doesn't take you to nice places?" William, once again, asked the question in all seriousness. Bridgette had been enjoying the drink, something spicy and sweet and cold to go with the eaten apple; she had been mid sip when she heard his words, almost cycling the contents of the glass through her nose to the recognition; she had to laugh: She snorted, coughed, quickly moved the drink from her face to hold it arm length out, and all without spilling a drop nor cycling it through her nose. ...and then she almost fell to the floor, landing crossed-legged and laughing aloud at the top of her lungs. The tears were falling from her face as her wrists came to rest upon her knees, drink still in hand. Her eyes witnessed only to the balcony railing and the city lights beyond - ground stars drowning out the real sky while she was looking through the glass. Bridgette's dam had started to crack. "I agree," was all he said in response, sitting next to her on the floor. William was in the exact same position, and was looking at the exact same thing. The two sat in contemplation and her sniffles without making the slightest motion to open the doors nearby and step outside on the brisk fall evening: The choir of the urban landscape would ruin her solo in the silence of the room. Patch installed, and partial composure restored, the slightly hunched Bridgette took a deep cleansing breath, turning his way while she wiped the remnants of tears from her complexion with the left side of her right wrist. He appeared on the outside as she felt inside; a sad look floated in his glorious eyes, and his skin color was slightly dark from sun. William, as well, looked as if he could cry. She interrupted his sip with her words, causing him to stop and stare at her with an arm up and glass to his lips. He was a lefty. "So if you're from here, but you're not anymore, and you were somewhere else, but you're not now, what are you doing home?" Bridgette studied his reaction as his empty glass came down; the condensation on it matched the state of her mascara free lashes. "I sort of had to take over the family business." He spoke with closed eyes; she thought about the words before she replied. "What kind of business?" Bridgette asked, grinning. William couldn't help but enjoy her. "You should smile more, even if you are sad. It's exquisite." A twinkle hit his eye as he spoke, internally glad that she remembered he didn't want to talk about it. "Then keep going, Bill, just keep it up." Bridgette kept grinning, laying her left cheek on her left hand, propped up on her left knee with the left elbow; she was watching him on the perpendicular with an almost empty glass. "Well, it's not really a business, more like a charitable tax foundation, so I don't get paid, really, not from the foundation anyway..." He set his glass off to his right, leaving his legs crossed but laying back on the marble to rest his head on his crossed arms and taking a quick peek of her hard curved buns on the floor. That dress, even if it was ugly, really did hug her form. "So have you written anything I would have read?" She was just playing now, spinning on her butt to sit crossed legged and perpendicular to his body with her head still resting on her hand. His fitted shirt hugged his expanded chest and ribcage, and there was a slight bulge on the textured fabric of his crotch. Her glass was empty, off next to his, and sitting with an apple core inside. William had not seen it happen. He was starting to turn Bridgette on; her body went ravenous for the sensation, trying to use it to destroy her thoughts. "Do you read a lot of published archaeology papers?" He asked in all seriousness, jolting her insides in the best possible way with his smirk. "Nop'e." Bridgette started to rub his upper body with her flattened right hand, unhurriedly moving from taut chest to leather belt and back again, head still in her hand. "Then I wouldn't think so, it reads like stereo instructions anyhow. I get bored reading it." His joke that was not a joke set the inevitable in motion. Bridgette removed her head from resting, slightly smiling and fully stretching her upper body on her crossed legs, arms up. William tilted his head to watch and follow as she came to rest upright on her knees, hovering above his belt buckle. He didn't move a muscle; William only stared up into her eyes as she looked down at him. She slid her hands from her flowing, but wildly perm'd hair, down her neck and over her hard nipples to her sides; she finally set them to rest when wrapped on the hem of her dress with her fingers on her tight thighs. "You've never done anything like this before, have you?" William had not moved short of his growing to full-on erection. "Nop'e." she dripped with her lips smacking. Bridgette swiveled her hips in the air, allowing William to see - but only for a moment - a flash of the slightest wisp of her pubic hair; full and trimmed; dark and curly; darker than the locks on her head. "Me neither..." he whispered with a softly taken aback face. "It's making me feel sexy.. I want to feel so sexy..." "You are sexy..." William was looking her in the eye. "I even like your dress," he spoke in all seriousness, followed by a nod and a smile, "..wrinkled and all.". Bridgette, with fury, suddenly dove. She was hawk hunting at twice the speed and deftly touching her palms to the marble floor in the equilaterals of his flexed arms. She stopped a mere distance from his face with her own, almost touching noses; her green eyes transformed to the darkest jade. William did not flinch at the false strike of her talons in spite of the ferocity, proximity, and velocity. "I told you I didn't want to talk about it." When Bridgette's stern whispered words finished, the pair began a long inhale in unison, both excited from the tingles. She hit her limit of ozone before he did, slowly moving in to kiss his lips and catching him by surprise. His hands - fast ones - hit on both of her thighs in tune with her lips, and just above the knee, sliding upwards on landing. When he hit the hem of the cotton dress, he tugged it up a short length before letting go - still sliding his hands along. William uncrossed his legs when fingers stopped on the sides of her breasts; Bridgette dropped her crotch to his lap when he raised his knees and used his thumbs to pull her dress to the sides, exposing her nudity. She broke the kiss, pulling back slightly, grinding less so and bringing his hands along while he tickled her nipples with his thumbs. Her eyes caught on his deft tongue: It caressed his own lips, tasting the flavor her mouth on his. Bridgette sat up against his upright knees; she quickly twisted her hands between his arms and tore his shirt open - buttons flying - to stare upon what turned out to be a lickable body. Her hands, after a quick compulsive grope, batted his fingers away from her sensitive nipples on her way to reach for her dress hem. She arched her back as the eyeburning dress went over her head, somehow in time with his mouth kissing her own at the moment it was exposed - William was moving to his knees. With her eyes still covered and her arms partially bound by the widened fabric, he grasp her wrists together with a hand above her head, combining their skin together using the other hand with pressure on the small of her back. This kiss brought outstretched tongues and grins. With even faster hands than before, he released her arms and pulled off the dress for her with lightning skill. Equally as smoothly, William tucked one hand under each of her arms, resting his fingers between her ribs and his thumbs in the nook under her sensitive mounds - slowly lifting her breasts. Her newly freed hands flew between his arms and to his belt clasp, cutely struggling mid kiss before getting it undone; she had to take a quick glance to figure it out. While his pants and boxers fell, she broke his hands and lips away yet again, pulling his shirt of his shoulders while slamming into his body with her own. It took both of her hands to lock his arms in his shirt behind his back; William struggled just enough to make it interesting as they lowered themselves to the glossy surface. She slid her hands to his abdomen, trapping his member upright between their bodies and soaking his shaft with her fluids. She pushed herself away to take in his eyes watching her smooth body. "I just want to/you be/inside inside/me you/. ." They said in unison, his hands resting on her hips with his back against the cool floor. Bridgette obliged; she raised her hips up, pushing against his body and aligning the head of his cock. She circled the tip against her clit a single time before sinking it in. Her hand stayed in place, wrapped tightly around his shaft, until she bumped her soldier with her own knuckle, at which point she let go and started to roll her hips up. His hands clamped her sides when he almost slid fully out of her insanely tight passage. She, in turn, stopped and reversed, sliding down his manhood, circling all the way to the hilt as she wrapped her hands under his shoulders and her calves to his thighs; she ran her tongue up his chest and to his lips as she glided along his body to do so. His hands gripped the hard globes of her posterior, squeezing with all his might as she did the same with all parts of her body; the pair slowly bumped into the shining marble and were breathing the same air. After nearly a minute, Bridgette tore her face away, threw her upper body into the air, clamped her calves to his thighs with tucked toes, and pushed her fingers along her head into her own hair to hold it high. "ohfuckyes," she cried out when his hands gripped her breast and twisted the buds in unison. By the fourth time he repeated the action, she began to shiver, quickly dropping her hands to his abs and hunching her back. She was in orgasm, silent, eyes closed, holding onto the sensation for all it was worth as he gripped both of her wrists with strength; he was staving off his own from the moment her velvet clamped down - far harder than he had ever felt before. Her face twisted to match his; her hips began to move involuntarily in tiny forceful motions; she soon shown gritted teeth as she clawed at his stomach. They screamed at the same time. Bridgette's second of her twin orgasms hit when she felt his first gush, though this time her hips went wild: swirling, pushing, and milking splash after splash. "holy fuck, Bridgette.." he said with a whimper as she finally came down onto his chest. She still randomly plied their hips, causing William to twitch and stay erect; he even let out a squeak. That particular noise is what started the excessive laughter of relief, her body lifting with the movement of his upper frame in humor. With the amount of wiggling between the two lovers, they were still essentially in intercourse. "I'm tired," Bridgette said as she flexed her inner muscles against his rod, closing her eyes. It was only 9:00 PM "Me too," he said, thrusting up his hips and forcing her to bite her lip softly. "Want to grab a shower? It has at least five shower heads." The thought popped her head up, followed by her body. She grabbed her dress, quickly tying the fabric around her mass of puffy hair like a bandana. "Which way is the bathroom?" She was sexily grinning and pointing left with her right and right with her left; she was still riding his member. When he nodded to the left she finally slid him free, releasing her grip. His manhood slapped wetly against his stomach as she stood, walking towards the bathroom with his eyes on her shape and socks, but she stopped halfway. "Are you coming?" she turned and asked. "Almost," he whispered, nodding. "Great, just don't get my hair wet," she held up a warning finger. "It's the last good thing I have left." She continued her travel, this time skipping across the polished surface towards the bathroom. She heard "I think you have plenty of good things" over her shoulder as she entered. The shower was steaming by the time he followed her excitement. When William stepped into the glass enclosure, he saw Bridgette with her hands high against the tile wall - above her head - and her feet spread wide. Scalding water sprayed and dripped off of every curve from her neck down, and her head was turned to watch him enter. She swung her rear on a circle as he closed the shower door. William walked up behind her, gripped both of her slick hips, and entered her in a single sly motion. As strong as her muscles were clamped, her ass still rippled with his repeated steady impacts, with each loving every wave. Their mixing fluids were more than enough to compensate for the rinsing water. With one hand still on her hip when he finished her reposition, William spun Bridgette around within the shower; he was holding her and one of her legs up as he finessed his way back into her hot body; with each forceful push, he slid her back up and down the wet walls in the corner of the shower. It was not long until he held her up by palming a cheek in each hand. Bridgette locked her fingers behind his neck, rubbing her wet nipples between his own while she teased his tongue from a downward angle. The leg he had been holding up was now wrapped around his body of it's own accord, and the painted toes of her other foot were just touching the textured surface of the shower floor. "Thank you," she whispered into his ear, cupping his face with a hand. She followed her words with shivers in another silent orgasm, and by wrapping both of her legs around his body. William, following in time, held her weight with ease; his orgasmic fluids were pushing deep against the full weight of her lithe body, bursting through her tension in fiery waves and making the shower seem cold. Bridgette was the first to grab a bar of soap nearly ten minutes - or two kisses - later. *** "It's good to see you well, William, sir. I am pleased that you arrived safely." Terrance, always the formal one, was overly happy to see William, even at a time like this. It had been nearly ten years, and he had grown into a man. "Thanks, Terrance. It's good to see you as well. How are you doing?" William had spotted Terrance and not the other way around; William's full beard and sun-streaked overgrown hair hid his features well, though not by intention. A plane roaring overhead almost drown out the words: "As well as can be, considering the circumstances, Doctor Walther." Terrance had a snide grin hidden beneath his formality, his way of saying he was proud as he set William's bags into the trunk of the long black limousine. This was his first chance to use the title. "Yeah, I hear you." William seemed depressed as he responded to his insanely overpaid employee, and lifelong friend. "Home, sir?" Terrance asked as he moved to open the door for William, another plane booming overhead. "No... No... Take me to a hotel. I can't go there yet.. Not yet." William shook his head. "Hotel first, let me get cleaned up, and then we'll go to the cemetery." William's face would have looked drawn had the overgrowth not existed; he'd been awake for eighteen hours and three connecting flights. "Very good, sir. Shall I call a tailor on the way?" Terrance asked, holding the car door open and holding out a medium sized leather bound book embroidered with a large 'WPW II" on the front. It had belonged to William's father. A tear ran from the corner of William's eye as he took the book and stepped into his chariot. "Yes, please, Terrance, something fashionable. You know what I like." "I do, sir. Very good," and Terrance closed the door, taking his own seat up front to drive to William Senior's favorite spot to take his wife, Mrs. Walther, on their weekend trips in the city. William flipped through his father's journal, the one in which he wrote the questions he would ask his son on the days he arrived home. The first question on the last list in the back, the only unanswered list, was simply: "Has he met a woman he can share his life with?" Next thing he saw, in the margin, was the phrase: "Tell William, Jr. that you love him." It was written in the rolling splotchy ink of his father's favorite desk pen. He hit the call button in the back, setting Terrance to roll down the separating tinted window. "Yes, sir?" Terrance asked without taking his eyes off of the road. "I've been gone a while, can you find out what the busiest club in the city is? I want to get drunk after I say goodbye to my father. Someplace with a 'happy hour'." "Not a problem, sir, but do try and prevent being photographed. The board would not appreciate such things in the papers." Terrance had the snide grin again. "Yeah, yeah, 'face of the foundation' and blah, blah, blah. Don't worry Terrance, I'll make him proud." William looked at the eyes of his friend in the rear view mirror. "I have no doubt of that, sir. No doubt whatsoever." Terrance spoke as he rolled up the glass and turned up the music of Nicos Tseperis that played on the clarity filled stereo. *** Bed was not a good enough way to say it. Instead, Bridgette sat upon a towel on the oversized, overly soft, room filling nimbus, rubbing expensive lotion into all parts of her skin. One of the smaller hotel towels was being used for her new bandana; her hair still spilled out of the back in wild permmy fashion. Two hotel robes were set out on the foot of the cloud, and half a room away. William lay with his hands on his chest, still naked short of a towel on his waist, with his damp - and self cut - hair on one of many pillows. "So I've been meaning to ask you," he spoke as she moved to cuddle at his side in the barely lit room, kicking the towel she was sitting on to the floor before she went naked. "What's that?" Bridgette inquired, sharing the pillow he used, whispering in his ear and snuggling into his body. "If you didn't want to talk to anyone, why did you wear a bright yellow dress and orange sneakers?" He questioned with all seriousness and confusion. Bridgette was silent at first; then slowly, ever so slowly, she began to laugh, louder and louder in progression. When William turned to feed his vision with her action, he saw that she was crying. Her dam had burst. *** The sun streaming into her apartment windows warmed her skin over and above the sex from her dream with the basketball player. Bridgette slowly stretched her arms over her head, letting out a squeak, naked, and half under her blankets. Something in her head was telling her the sun was an important thing. Her eyes snapped open with a fright as she jumped up onto the tangled blankets and stared at the numberless digital clock next to her bed. "NOOO!" She dove to her end table, grabbing her mother's watch - her only heirloom jewelry. It was 10:30 AM, she was four hours late. She still had to catch a train. "No!" She ran to her dresser, throwing on her orange scrub shirt and black scrub pants. "Not this month.." she groaned aloud as she snagged some rolled socks and leapt for the closet. Bridgette threw on her orange sneakers, fall colors to match the scrubs, and then angled for the shoebox at the top corner of the closet. A Pick-Up that Lined Up to a Hookup She opened the box, took her house-key-and-ID-cards necklace, her prepaid cell with five minutes left, and a twenty dollar bill from her nonexistent saving; she threw the box back onto the shelf while walking in the opposite direction. "Not again, not again," she ran out of the house looking at her watch and trying to figure out a train time as she went down the stairs with her toothbrush in her mouth. She was in the subway car teasing her hair with her fingers before she realized she had forgotten her underwear. *** "I'm sorry Ms. Freeman, but the conditions of the merger do not allow us the liberty to continue to pay you for a position that is overstaffed. We've given you an ample six month benefit package." The business man was giving her a lecture as if he understood the cause of medicine or the use of the word 'ample'. She knew, damn well she knew, that every able body was needed on the ICU floor. In fact: The hospital was understaffed with properly trained personal. "...but newer hires cost less money," she thought to herself, finishing his unspoken words silently. "You need me, you're understaffed," she snapped to the suit. "We don't need your tardiness or your attitude. You are unpredictable, Bridgette," he was acting like her friend, "This is a workplace issue, you should be glad you are even getting benefits. You should have fallen in line." "So not even severance? Those bennies aren't worth a shit and you know it. Are you serious?" He tossed a folder on the desk in front of her, and spun his chair around. No wonder she did not get a wake-up call. "You mean I shoulda fuckin' let people die." Bridgette took the folder, harshly, and stormed out of the office to the elevator. The sad faces of the other nurses in the hallway only made her angrier. *** She had little clue what she was going to do as she walked with the folder under her arm and out of the doors of the hospital, slowly shuffling her feet towards the pretzel cart outside. "Oh you look so cute," a doctor said rhetorically as she walked past and into the building. "Thanks," Bridgette replied absently and late enough to not be heard; her anger had been replace with fear and worry. She stepped to the food cart, bought a coffee and a pretzel - her meal for the day - and walked with her sixteen dollars, and almost gone cell phone, back to her home as the keychain-ID-necklace swung along and her mother's watch ticked away. No one wants to ride the crowded underground at lunchtime; Bridgette had left her moist used toothbrush on the suit's desk. *** By the time she walked up the last flight of stairs to her apartment, she had figured out, that with her last paycheck, she could cover her rent for the shitty apartment a mile from the ghetto where she grew up, but not the electric bill - this month or last. She stepped to the door with her key in her hand, but she froze. Her door was slightly parted. "Oh my goodness..." Bridgette did not remember if she had pulled the door until it clicked. "Oh please, oh please, oh please..." she repeated as she pushed open the door in prayer. It clanked against the wall to take-out menus fluttering from the breeze of the open windows. Her lower lip began to quiver while she stood in the doorway. Every cabinet was open and barren; the fridge was open as well, and equally empty. Her clothes were gone, as was her laptop, TV, CDs, books, dishes and sheets. The mattress was on the floor and the bed frame was gone; her broken dresser was empty; her closet as well, including her shoebox with all of her personal information and the rest of the upper shelf. Every thing she could see except for that awful yellow dress - the one she swore she would throw out - that she wore to homecoming just over ten years ago - was gone; it was piled on the floor without a hanger. The only other room, the bathroom, came next. She pulled back the world's worst shower curtain - that no one would steal - and sighed; they had left her used bar of soap, her broken hair pick, and the shampoo/conditioner in the shower. The two bottles were one use from empty. They did, though, steal her butter and her salad dressing. With her fridge, windows, and front door still open, she stripped and jumped in the shower hoping to dull her insides, too angry to cry at the smashed houseplants and floating litter that was once filed. Wet and naked and air drying on her uncovered mattress a few minutes later - almost sobbing from knowing her hair was going to be frizzy wild without her blow dryer - Bridgette sat and flipped through the four names in her prepaid phone's contacts. There was her job, her free clinic counselor, that lady from work, and Robert. Bridgette would call Robert. He could help; he slept over three nights a week. It had been three months, and he was turning out to be the only serious thing in her life, especially after today. Her first attempt brought her down to four minutes. Her second attempt brought her down to three. Robert finally answered on the third attempt. "He's married you know." It was not Robert on the phone, but a woman. He was in the background. "Honey," came muffled through the earpiece, "let me do it." "He's fucking married home wrecker. Didn't you see the ring mark when he stuck his fingers in your ass, whore." *** "He was married? No way... Wow.. Bridgette.. Just... I'm sorry." "Thanks, Bill, but it wasn't your fault. Besides, that wasn't the worst part." Bridgette was laying naked and on her belly, her bottom and sleek back were highlighted by the early moonlighting while she played with her slightly chipping nails - they had stolen her make-up case. "What? No way, it can't get worse, can it?" He had gotten up to her words and floated to the cordless hotel phone on the end table, half a cloud away, bringing the device back with him. She had started giggling with her tears long since used up during the earlier tale telling, "Yep. It sure can. When I was walking to the bar, I got mugged." William's face fell as he turned to her. "Yeah, yeah. This druggie creep punched me in the stomach and stole my mother's watch. He would have gotten my sixteen bucks, too, if it hadn't been in my fist 'cause I had no pockets." Bridgette had rolled onto her back, looking serious as she stared at the inlayed ceiling and soft spot lights. "It was an antique..." she sighed hard. "At least he didn't rape me." "Right?" William got serious for only a second. "Do you know what kind of watch it was?" he said, glancing over at the clock on the wall. "Yeah, it was a Tiffany. Oh it was beautiful... the nicest thing I've ever owned. It made me feel so important." Bridgette closed her eyes, quivering her lips for an instant. "So you would know it if you saw it?" "Are you kidding? Absolutely," she started touching her chest lightly, skimming it and causing goose flesh. William picked up the phone after she replied, speaking into it a moment later. "Yes, can you send a representative from Tiffany's to the suite at say, four o'clock tomorrow? Someone good. That'll do. Yes, there will be, hold on one moment," William covered the mouthpiece to the phone. "What do you want to wear?" He directed the question to Bridgette. She pointed her right pointer finger at her naked chest with her arm extended. "Yes, you," he spoke, admiring her frame and still covering the mouthpiece. "If you put me in Armani, I will marry you." Her eyes we still closed, and she was still relaxed. "..and can you send up an Armani catalog at about one. Yes.. yes..Thank you." William hung up the phone while holding back a laugh at her bulging eyes. "Wh- wha- psht- Why?" She had rolled back over and hopped onto her hands and knees to face him while he set the phone aside on the cloud. "Because you chose that seat," he was speaking in all seriousness. He put his hands behind his head, flashing an addictive grin to go with his warm hazel embrace. "Well what am I going to wear until tomorrow?" Bridgette was swaying naked on the cloud, upright from her knees, fondling a cup and teething a nail in seduction. "As little as possible."