Challenges

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“I’m getting antsy,” I said.

April shrugged and played with the swizzle stick in her mai tai. “It was your decision, sweetie. You made it, you can unmake it.”

I scowled. “I suppose I could.”

She smirked. “You should. The body is to be enjoyed while it’s young. It doesn’t stay that way long. Trust me on that.”

April’s always saying things like that. She’s about to hit the big four-oh, and she seems to think it will immediately turn her into a bent over, shriveled up old hag with tits that hang down to her knees, the wrinkles of a Shar Pei, and the hump of Quasimodo. In the real world, she’s the possessor of a killer figure, the face of a cherub on holiday, and a stunning, perfectly tailored wardrobe that would suit the vice-president of a venture capital firm…which, actually, she is. No one who doesn’t recognize her from her videos would ever guess that she was once the hottest porn star in LA.

I looked once around the little bistro she favored. As usual, we were effectively alone. The other guests were at the extreme opposite end of the generous dining room. We weren’t being overheard. We could probably have shouted at one another without anyone else taking notice.

“We meet at this weird lunch-is-over but not-quite-dinner hour,” I murmured, “to minimize your chance of being recognized–“

“And because they make a decent pina colada and a kick-ass mai tai.”

I waved it aside. “I’ve been with you on a couple of occasions when you were recognized. Your…fans didn’t appear to notice your extreme age.”

She chuckled. “I’m probably oversensitive about it because it put an end to my video career. God knows why I should care. I still look good, I know it. But the producers are always looking for a younger face and a fresher pair of tits. This being the City of Sin–“

“I thought that was Las Vegas.”

“Just a pretender, Minh. Anyway, so many girls flood into this miserable excuse for a city every week that my former employers always have their pick. Sometimes for peanuts, these gals are so desperate to get their faces on film.” She chuckled again. “If only they knew before they got on that plane or train.”

I grunted.

“Minh?”

“Hm?”

“I could fix you up. Nothing serious, just good sex. Guaranteed good. One of my former co-stars is a pretty decent guy, and you should see his–“

I winced. “Spare me. A porn star? Where else has Junior’s favorite toy been playing? I still can’t imagine why or how you put yourself through that crap for so long.”

“I worked out every day, always ate organic, and went for a checkup each and every week,” she said. “And I didn’t just take anyone the producers threw at me, you know. I had standards even at the beginning, and I was lucky to get hooked up with an outfit that let me maintain them.”

“Well,” I said, “thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll try it my way first.”

Her look turned pitying. “Bars again?”

“Where else? Church groups?”

“You know the kind of guy you’re likely to meet in bars.”

“All too well, sweetie. But all they get is sex. No address, no phone number, and no illusions about return engagements.”

She nodded, but she still looked worried. “Just stay safe.”

“I will.”

***

I have a ritual for nights like the one I went on. It starts in the bathroom. I run a nice hot tub, soak in it for about ten minutes, and shave off every scrap of body hair below my chin. I get out, pat myself not-quite-dry, and apply a sweet, creamy body lotion, usually something redolent of apricots or pears. I want to look nice, feel nice, and smell nice when my clothes come off.

Now to the wardrobe. Silk panties, a light-support bra, and sheer thigh-highs. A loose-fitting silk blouse, because I don’t have much in the way of tits, and skin-tight jeans, because I do have a nice ass. Always play to your strengths, as April says. Just enough foundation to even out my skin tone, a touch of silver-gray eye shadow, and some clear lip gloss. Finally I slip on my spikes, give myself a final once-over in the bedroom mirror, and I’m off to the hunt.

I can usually tell whether it will be a…productive night by the way I feel as I close my door behind me. If I find myself asking myself “Am I sure I want to do this,” it usually isn’t. If I feel like the world hasn’t got a chance against me, it usually is. On the night in question, it was the latter. I was ready to take on the entire city.

As it turned out, I faced a considerably larger challenge.

***

The bar circuit in LA is pretty wide, but there aren’t many where the pickings are worth a picky gal’s while. The first place I hit was a dry hole. The men were all too old, and anyway they all appeared to be paired up. Some played pool as their honeys watched, some threw darts as their honeys watched, and some just fondled their honeys. I got no attention and didn’t stay long.

The second place was even more dismal: simav escort there were about seven women there per man, and the men were well below my bottom threshold. From the moment I walked in all the other girls were glaring daggers at me. I didn’t stay there long, either.

As I have a three-strikes-and-I’m-out policy, I’d begun to fear that I’d be going home early and alone. But my third swing proved…interesting.

There weren’t a lot of unpaired men–LA has a surplus of single women, and most of them are a lot more aggressive than I am–but there were some. One in particular caught my eye, a moderately good-looking guy of middle height, clean-shaven, with brown hair and a slender build. He wore a khaki shirt with tan casual slacks and black loafers. He was doing the very last thing I’d ever expect to find anyone doing in a reasonably crowded bar on a Friday night: he was sitting by himself, sipping now and then from a glass of red wine, and reading a magazine.

There was a space around him, as if the rest of the patrons were afraid he had some weird disease they might catch if they got too close. For a moment I worried that there might be something I should know. But he didn’t look threatening, just…odd, and not for his appearance. At one point a bar-back swooped by, picked up his empty glass, and came back a few minutes later with a refill. They exchanged smiles, the bar-back went on his way, and the object of my fascination went back to his magazine.

I hitched up my courage and made my approach. He noticed before I got within hailing range and produced a wry smile.

“Go ahead and ask,” he said. “Somebody always does.”

“Oh?” I said. “What do they ask?”

“Why I’m sitting in the corner of a busy bar squinting at a magazine.”

“Hm.” I glanced at the mag. It was IEEE Computing. “Okay, I won’t ask that. I’ll ask something else.”

His eyebrows rose, and I grinned.

“Why,” I said, “are you reading an issue of Computing that’s six months old?”

He laughed. “‘Cause I’m behind, of course.”

“Well, that answers my second question,” I said.

“Which would have been?”

“Hey, Handsome, do you come here often,?”

We laughed together. “What’ll you have?” he said.

“If you’re buying? A glass of that red. If not? A glass of that red.”

He grinned. “I’m buying.” He beckoned to the bar-back.

***

The evening began to look productive almost at once. His name was Jason. He, of course, was an engineer, as was I. He was thirty-six, single, and lived alone, as did I. He’d come there immediately after work, desiring to be around other people even though he intended to sit alone and read.

“You know what engineers are like,” he said. “We’re isolates. We live ninety percent of our lives in our heads, and the other ten percent is–“

“At meetings,” I supplied.

He raised his eyes to heaven. “Praise God, someone who understands! Yes, exactly. It’s where I get most of my sleep.”

“You hate meetings too?” I said. “I thought I was alone.”

“Not at all, Minh. There are three kinds of people at a meeting. The manager who called it, those who plan to argue for some personal project or take revenge on another engineer, and those who were ordered to attend and would rather be having an emergency appendectomy. At my shop that third category gets a lot of sleep.”

“That,” I said, “is a skill I have yet to master.”

“You’re still young. It’ll come to you eventually. Anyway, I’m not much for socializing, but I do like to be around people now and then–people who are having a good time.” He smirked. “People I don’t fantasize about feeding into a wood-chipper. So once in a while I come here instead of going home at the end of the work day.”

“Well, whatever works, I guess, but isn’t this a tough environment to read technical stuff in?” I waved inclusively at the crowd, the low lighting, and the volume of the music.

“It can be a challenge,” he said “But–“

“But you are six months behind,” I said.

He chuckled. “Only at Computing. You should see the pile of unread crap at my place.”

I sensed an opening. We were barely twenty minutes and one drink each into our acquaintance, but there was already a connection, and not a tenuous one. I had that sense of kindred spirit that can be so rare in a fleshpot full of self-absorbed fortune hunters all trying to scratch their itches for money, status, and sex at the same time and in the same way, and all of them wondering why they can’t get ahead.

“You might think this is a little forward, Jason,” I said, “but that sounded like an invitation.” I locked eyes with him. “I’m hoping you meant it that way.”

The impersonally genial expression he’d worn up to then slid off his face. It was replaced by something with more components than I’d expected to see.

There was pleasure, of course. What man isn’t pleased sincan escort to learn that an attractive woman has found him attractive, and perhaps desirable? There was also curiosity, the why me, and why you? that a man who’d been keeping to himself will display when a woman courts his attention. And there was a hint of warning, a subtle suggestion that I didn’t know him well enough for what I’d implied…that I might be getting into something that, if I were to take more time and learn him better, I might prefer to avoid.

But he radiated absolutely no danger signals. Believe me, I always have my antennae out for them. And I’d already decided that the night was for adventure.

“You’re Asian,” he said.

“I’m American,” I replied. “My parents came here from Vietnam. But I was born and raised here. I’m as American as the Star-Spangled Banner.”

“It doesn’t bother you that I’m white?”

“Not in the slightest. I prefer white men. I don’t think much of most Asian men.”

It set him back. He appeared to consider it.

“You’re a very attractive and intelligent girl, Minh. I’m flattered by your interest. But are you sure I’m what you want?”

I smiled. “Let me answer your question with one of my own: Which of us are you trying to protect, Jason? Me or you?”

His answer was a total surprise.

“Neither of us,” he said. “I don’t think I need to fear you, and I know you’re in no danger from me. I’m just worried that I might disappoint you.”

I shrugged. “I’m ready to take that chance.”

He looked assessingly at me for a moment, then nodded.

“Okay.” He rose. “Let’s go.”

***

His apartment wasn’t far from the bar, That was good, as he preferred to walk and I was in skin-tight jeans and five-inch heels. It was a third-floor flat in a small pre-war building that, to my surprise, had a working elevator. The lobby and hallways were clean though unpretentious. He noticed my attention and smiled.

“It’s a co-op,” he said. “We all pitch in to keep it clean and maintained.”

His apartment was neat and clean, as well. Apparently he’d lived alone long enough to learn what he liked, and neatness and cleanliness was included. The furniture was all leather and in good shape. The hardwood floors appeared to have been recently reconditioned. He told me to make myself comfortable, so I sat myself on his sofa as he headed for his kitchen.

“This is all right,” I said.

“Glad you like it,” came the reply from around the corner. “I’ve lived here for nine years. Sometimes I think I’d be happy never to leave.”

He returned bearing a platter of cheese, crackers, and a sliced pear, a bottle of red wine in a bucket of ice, and two stemmed glasses. He set it all on the low coffee table before us and settled in next to me. At that point something in my expression must have disturbed him, for he frowned.

“Is everything okay, Minh?”

I nodded. “I’m just…I don’t know.” I winced. “I guess you’d call it evaluating.”

“Evaluating what?”

I waved. “Everything. All of this. You. Finding you sitting alone in the bar. Reading, for Pete’s sake! I don’t get it, Jason.” I half-turned to look him in the eyes. “LA is full of women on the prowl. Good-looking women, better looking than me! And every one of them is desperate to find someone like you. How is it that you’re alone?”

There was a brief silence.

“Are you one of those women, Minh?”

I shook my head. “I’m not desperate. Just interested in you.” I grinned. “Really interested.”

He nodded. “I sensed that. But ‘why is Jason Landsdowne alone,’ I hear you ask. He’s not bad looking, not bad smelling, not married, has a good job and a nice apartment, he’s a decent conversationalist, and he doesn’t go for your bra straps the instant he meets you. So what’s his problem?”

I waited.

“Minh,” he said, “if you really want to know, I will tell you. But you have to do something for me first.”

I tensed. “What’s that?”

He waved at the tray he’d brought out. “Have a glass of wine.”

***

I had one, and another after that. And I began to wonder what he was softening me up for. When he started to pour me a third, I held up a hand.

“Three is my limit. One at the bar and two here makes three. You’ve still got half of your first one. Since we got here, I mean. It’s time to pay up.”

He paused briefly, then nodded and stood.

With his eyes on mine, in perfect silence, he unzipped his slacks and let them fall to the floor. I immediately saw what he wanted me to see.

The scar was a circle at least four inches in diameter. It covered a good part of his right thigh, very close to the pelvic join. The tissue was almost the same color as the flesh around it, set off mainly by being raised above the rest and visibly rougher in texture.

“How?” I murmured.

“Hunting accident,” he said. “My buddy got a little sinop escort sloppy with his shotgun.”

“And you lived?”

“Well, obviously.” He grinned. “It was touch and go for a while. I almost lost the leg. Anyway, here I am. But there were consequences.”

I frowned. He shrugged and pulled down his briefs.

I’m an attractive gal. I take good care of myself. I dress, make up, and carry myself to accentuate my attractions, especially when I’m trying to snag a guy. I expect the man I focus on to display his interest in the usual way. I do not expect to see a completely limp cock. And I must admit that I found the sight disturbing.

“Oscar hasn’t come out to play since then,” he said.

“Never ever?”

He nodded. “It’s made dating something of a challenge.”

I sat silently for a moment, trying to come to a decision. He waited.

Presently I said “Let me see the rest of you.”

He frowned. “Why? I told you–“

“Shut up. Just do it.”

He complied.

He was trim and firm, nicely proportioned, with no slop anywhere. He had very little body hair, even at his crotch, and all of it was as fine as down. Yet he stood before me as if ashamed of his body…as if he dreaded to hear whatever I might say. He didn’t realize that I was savoring him, just giving myself a little foretaste of what I expected would come of our evening.

“What are you thinking, Minh?” he said at last.

I rose. “That you’re too good to waste.”

I stood before him, ran my hands down his frame, and lowered myself slowly to my knees.

My first hope was that he’d respond to my mouth. I’m a first-rate cocksucker, partly because I’ve studied the art and partly because I enjoy it. But his cock remained flaccid despite five minutes of my best oral efforts. So I reached for my purse.

“Did you like that?” I said.

“Very much, but you can see–“

“I can feel, Jason,” I said. “But I’m not giving up yet. This is my challenge now.” I grinned up ferally at him. “And I haven’t lost one yet.”

The tube of K-Y was there, as always, but for a moment I couldn’t lay my hand on the vibrator I usually carried. It lay at the bottom of the mess, beneath about five pounds of assorted girl junk. I stood up.

“Are you willing to let me try something?” I said.

His eyes narrowed. “Will it hurt?”

“I don’t think so. Are you shy about your asshole?”

“Uh, maybe a little.”

I grinned. “Most men are. Believe it or not, that only makes it better.” I held the vibrator up to his eyes. “Trust me?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

I moved to stand behind him. “Bend over.”

He did.

Once I’d lubed it, his asshole took the vibrator with a minimum of fuss. His cock started to twitch even before I turned it on. Once the vibrations were going, so was he. I stood him up and turned him around gently to face me.

His face was alight with joy. His cock quivered at full attention.

“How long has it been?” I said.

“Twenty-two years.”

“Huh? Have you ever–“

He shook his head.

I laughed with delight. “Then you’re overdue. Just stand there.” And I descended once again to my knees.

***

I loved having his erect cock in my mouth, even more because his erection was such a breakthrough for him. I savored the feel and taste of it as long as I dared, but I didn’t want him to come in my mouth. I wanted to save that for the main event, so when I thought he was on the verge of exploding, I backed off, shed my own clothes, and took him to his bedroom. And what an event it was.

I’ve had a few men. Some were good, some were mediocre, and some were a complete waste of my time and secretions. Jason was spectacular. He fucked me as if I were the dream he’d been dreaming for twenty-two years. Who knows? Maybe I was. I didn’t ask.

I don’t think I’ve ever been that tight or wet. I know I’d never come that hard before. But he had a little further to go, so after my spasms stopped, I had him pull out and lie on his back. I checked the position of the vibrator, which was okay–it was the sort with a tapered end and a wide flange, so it won’t get lost in the body–and said “I want you to come in my mouth.”

He nodded.

I went back to sucking him, one hand delicately stroking his balls and the other rhythmically pressing the end of the vibrator. It took only a minute or so before he gasped, clutched my head, and came. It was a torrent, the magnitude of release I expected from twenty-two years in the sexual desert. I swallowed it all, loving the taste and aroma.

When his shaking ceased, I gently pulled the vibrator out of his ass, turned it off and laid it on his night-table, and curled myself into his side. His eyes had closed. His breathing was deep and even.

“Did you like that, Jason?”

No response.

“Jason?”

Still no response. I levered myself onto an elbow and looked down at him. He was asleep.

Should it have bothered me? It didn’t. I was happy. More for him than for myself. Hell, maybe as much for myself as well; I’d met the challenge and defeated it. Even if he was the major beneficiary, it was my achievement. I savored it as I fell asleep.

No, our story doesn’t end there. But it will, for now.

–The End–

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