As I walked past the coffee shop window, I locked eyes with a man sitting at the bar, working on a laptop. We exchanged a long, lingering stare. He looked different from his pictures but I suppose that was to be expected in these situations. His messenger bag was draped over the seat next to him, and as I approached him, he took his bag off the seat.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said. As he moved his bag, he looked up at me, surprised and said, “Oh it’s not me you’re meeting, I thought you wanted the seat.”
Embarrassed, I rushed further into the café, where there was another man waiting at a table. He was wearing a light grey suit, with a folded red handkerchief in the breast pocket, glasses, and a look of amusement.
“Did you just introduce yourself to that stranger? That’s horrible.”
“I did. I thought he was you because we made eye contact.”
“He was just staring because you’re pretty.”
We ordered coffee and chatted for over an hour. Afterwards, we got a taxi into the CBD and I found myself thinking about him after we’d said goodbye. I always liked men in suits. There had been other attractive men, but in the end, I think I chose him because he looked kind, because I felt safe with him.
The next time I saw him, I met him in the lobby of the Hilton. He was wearing a navy blue suit with a pink tie. I felt nervous going up in the elevator, knowing what we were about to do. When we got into the room, he poured me a glass of wine, and I downed mine quickly. We chatted for a little while. I tried to pretend I felt normal, but I felt more awkward than anything. I noticed that the time was ticking away, and he hadn’t made a move. I couldn’t stop staring at his shoes, his suit, his tie, his goddamn pink cufflinks that matched his pink tie, and wondered how much money he made.
I couldn’t stop feeling uncomfortable, and so I decided to have a second glass. The time was ticking away, and so I moved closer to him, and began to undo his tie aggressively. I told him I had watched 1950’s shows in which a wife will do her husband’s tie, and I had always wanted to do one. He said I could try with his. I couldn’t get it right. Things moved very quickly after that. We stood up, and he began to kiss me. His kisses reminded me of someone else I’d half forgotten already.
I wanted things to move quickly, so I moved his hands downward. He put his fingers inside me and murmured “You’re so wet.” We moved to the bed and lay there intertwined for awhile, talking. He remarked that I was a mixture of things; both shy and fiercely aggressive at the same time.
I was impatient to start things, and I moved his fingers inside my underwear again, and he whispered, “I like how you think you’re in control here, but you’re not in control.” He moved his fingers away from me, and said “Tell me you want me to touch you.” He made me beg for it.
Later, I put his hands around my throat while he was inside me. The first time I did it, he said “Tell me if I hurt you.” When I did it again the second time, he said, “I know you’re a naughty girl because you get wetter every time I put my hands around your throat.” (I really did).
He stroked my face with his finger, and said, “so pretty,” in a soft voice, so used to commanding others. He whispered things to me, and commanded me to do things that would make schoolgirls blush. But I liked everything he did to me. He kept his hands around my throat, pinned me down, spanked me, pulled my hair. Pain is nice in small doses.
At the end, he asked if I wanted him to cum. Even while fucking, I didn’t neglect to stop looking at the clock next to the bed. We had been fucking for nearly two hours. I was raw.
I said yes, and he asked where I wanted him to come. I said, “anywhere you want.” I was late to dinner for another date, and I wanted to hurry it up. He said that he liked to cum on pretty girls’ faces. I replied that I didn’t mind, as long as he didn’t get it in my eye (I know the pain all too well).
Afterwards, I put a robe on, and began applying my Dior lipstick. He was next to me, naked on the bed, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see him watching me intently. After I had finished applying my lipstick, he praised my beautiful mouth, and then he leaned in and kissed me.
I went into the bathroom after, and when I came out, I saw the bills perched conspicuously on my bag. There was a feeling of cheapness then, but I quickly brushed it off, and said thank you. He was dressed already, and he stood in front of me and kissed me goodbye on the forehead.
“You’re full of pleasant surprises,” he said, with a smile before he left.
I wondered who he was going home to, and what she looked like.
I didn’t feel bad for what I did. I told myself that, and tried to believe it.