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Chameleon
She leaned closer to the mirror to line her eyes with a third layer of dark kohl. She darkened her lips with a red so deep it was black in the poor light of her tiny bathroom. Perfect. As she capped the lipstick, she stepped back to shut the bathroom door to check out the final effect on the long mirror hanging on the back of the door. Alex barely recognized herself, which was exactly the intent. The soft rounds of her breasts rose above the fabric of a black sateen corset, straining the laces that endeavored to hold in her bounty. Below that she wore a short skirt, black of course, garnished with the requisite studded belt, her long legs displayed to advantage in black fishnet. She’d grown another inch thanks to combat boots she’d bought just yesterday. She ran her fingers through her auburn curls, making them wilder than usual, and she was ready. Ready as she’d ever be, that is. She tucked her ID, a condom, and cash into the calf of her right boot, took her car and house keys off the ring, and headed out the door.
When she got to Luna, the techno music was already spilling out the door, and a line was starting to form. The bouncer, bless him, asked for her ID and she paid her cover, putting the money, the plastic, plus her keys, into her boot with her now-stamped hand.
Every seat in the bar was taken, so Alex started her evening on the dance floor, soon taken away by the hypnotic beat. The people around her were shadows, too, dressed in black, in blood red, in regal purple. She was surrounded by misfits, teenagers who never grew up, just older; teenagers who might not; people morose even in their entertainment. She fit right in, although this wasn’t her ordinary crowd. But they were dancing, lost in the beat of some driving song being sung in a frighteningly martial German, although isn’t all German? She looked around at the pale faces in the flickering light for him, whoever he might be, as she turned gradual solitary circles around the dance floor, her hips and arms swaying in a private choreography. By the third song—or maybe it was still the first; they all sounded the same—she saw him, sitting on a chair in the corner, talking with friends over the din. He wore black jeans, and his tight black t-shirt evidenced an acquaintance with weights. The cuffs of his sleeves were strained around firm biceps that flexed as he animatedly talked with his hands. His dark brown hair—or was it black? so hard to tell in here—was cut respectably short, unusual in this crowd. She watched him for awhile, watched the parade of his emotions cross his face as he spoke and laughed, making his off-beat handsomeness even more appealing. He was her target.
She left the dance floor and made her way to the bar for a soda, leaning against the rail as she drank and surveyed the crowd. She looked over at him again, just as he happened looked her way, and their eyes met. She smiled a little; he smiled back, a question mark in his look. Alex had the answer, but wasn’t sure if she’d have the nerve to raise her hand and give it. But that was why she had come, to be the woman with the nerve, to take what she wanted, never doubting that it was being offered to her, to ignore the voice of fear that started to whine in the back of her head. Alex finished the rest of her drink, took a deep breath, and began to walk her long legs over to him. She couldn’t tell if the thumping in her chest was the reverb of the bass, or her heart trying a last-ditch escape from her chest. She thought it was wise to consider abandoning her; she’d considered it herself, but she was, however foolishly, committed. He noticed her vector and watched her as she made her way across the dance floor, she half-smiling, a knowing look in her eye. His friends had now noticed her too, and joined her audience.
Her plan was simple—to find the man and approach the man with stunning boldness. She didn’t know what came next—she hadn’t thought that far ahead. She was expecting nothing; the whining voice expected humiliation. But the part of her that had brought her to this point couldn’t help but wonder if in projecting total confidence whether she might just be invincible, and that the man would be happily at her feet. She meant to find out.
Alex stopped before him, legs strong as she willed them not to shake, and watched his eyes as his face registered momentary surprise and then recognition of the primal game afoot. Without a word she straddled his lap, looked him in the eye, and then kissed him, firmly, deeply on the mouth. His lips were still, for a moment, and then joined in the kiss as his hands reached around her waist. She was exultant. When they finally parted, she said, “Hi. I’m Alex.”
“Nice to meet you, Alex,” he said, his hands still resting on her hips. “I’m Nick.”
“Would you like to dance, Nick?” Her eyebrows rose with the question.
“You bet.”
She stood up then, held out her hand, which he took, and they moved to the dance floor. Alex began to move to the beat with her first step. She danced with fluid repetition, he with jerky improvisation, to music that seemed appropriately interpreted by either. The dance floor was packed, and she was flushed with the heat, and maybe something else, as they were pushed by the crowd and pulled by magnetism to dance more closely than they might have. They did not touch each other except for their eyes, and the occasional brushes of limbs competing for the same limited space, but it was enough. Desperate for air and a drink, Alex made her way to the edge of the crowd, and Nick followed close behind. She kept walking, passing the bar and heading for the back of the club where a propped door and gusty cooling vent beckoned. She did not see Nick wink at his friends as they passed his table, but was pleased nonetheless that he’d not dropped out of the chase.
She led the way out the back door, and as she turned to speak to him his hand was on the back of her neck, pulling her close for a kiss, and cutting off any words she might have managed to compose. She dissolved into the kiss, tasting smoke and White Russian. As Nick pressed closer to her she enfolded him in her arms, intent on possessing him if only for the moment. Hands and lips grew increasingly more insistent, urgent, and Alex soon found herself supported by the club wall behind, two strong hands traversing the border between corset and bare breast in front. He substituted his lips for one hand which then slid down her stomach, past the hem of her skirt to her thigh before backtracking up the squares of fishnet and slipping under the skirt. When his fingers registered the end of the stocking and the smooth ribbon of the garter, a deep “mmmmmm” escaped his lips, somewhat muffled by her own.
She whispered, “Keep going.”
He was going there anyway, but the encouragement emboldened him. His discovery of the fact that the garters and stockings were the only dainties she was wearing registered with an even greater firmness against her leg, and she rubbed his erection through his jeans as he trailed his fingers through her slickness, allowing his thumb to linger in lazy circles on her clit.
He pulled back to look at her, neither of them relinquishing their handfuls. “Now what, Alex?”
She pulled him deeper into the shadows and away from the door, trying not to trip over the empty boxes that littered the alley. She reached down to fish the condom out of her boot. Holding it up, she said, “It’s your call, Nick.”
He took it from her, staring at the package, then looking hard at her for a five-second eternity.
“Please.” That was all she said. Please.
He had to kiss her again, to feel her, to have her, and his renewed ardor gave her tacit permission to undo the button of his jeans and slide the zipper down. She reached past the elastic of his boxers to find the hard cock that’d been teasing her and freed it from the confinement of his BVDs with a soft hand, pushing his clothing far enough down to be out of the way. She caressed him with long strokes as he ripped open the condom, and she helped him slide it down to the base with her two warm hands. She leaned back against the wall, put one foot up on a nearby box and opened herself to him. He accepted her glistening invitation, and slowly entered her to the music of her gasps. Eyes closed, skirt hiked up, back to the wall, her parted lips gave voice to vaguely animal exclamations as he drove into her again and again, feeling his own pleasure rise with each stroke. Their standing angle allowed him to make delicious contact that threatened to make her legs buckle. He steadied himself with one hand on the wall behind her, the other grasping her shoulder as his pace and his breath quickened and then stopped as he gripped her shoulder even more tightly. He began to breathe again on the exhale as he came, shuddering, elbow buckling as he leaned against her.
When he finally opened his eyes, Alex looked at him, ran her hand down the side of his face and whispered, “Thank you. Nick.” She gave him a softer version of the kiss she had greeted him with, then slid out between him and the wall. He watched her tug her skirt back into place as she moved toward the door and slipped inside, leaving him standing forlornly in the dark, exposed and alone as he tried to tidy up and follow her once again. He got inside just in time to see her exit through the front door.
She barely dared to breathe until she’d gotten to her car. As she dropped into her seat, she was a tumult of feelings and desires. She was still wet with unquenched excitement, and she closed her eyes to conjure him up again as her hands slid down between her still-slippery thighs, reveling in her lush wetness as her fingers slid up and down her slit to finish the job. Her long-delayed orgasm came hard and fast, lingering exquisitely as she descended the peak and relaxed in the driver’s seat. Lacking even so much as napkin, she licked her fingers clean, turned the key in the ignition, and headed for home.
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