Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: One Chapter A Day
THE BACHELOR CHAPTERS: A THINKING WOMAN’S ROMANCE
With windows rolled down, and music blasting, the Chicago freeway had blown by, and he’d gotten us downtown in a heartbeat. We started with cocktails at Whiskey on Rush Street. Kyle Ross was single, but only recently, and still bitter about the breakup. It was a story to echo Brian’s: a woman critical of how a man lived his life.
“Did you do anything—at all—to deserve her criticism?” The guy was warm and gallant, plus hotter than hell. Only a witch would disrespect him.
“Vicki Marie, I treated that woman like a queen! Cooked her dinner, helped wit’ her car, took her dancin’ an’ to Bull’s games; I even took her kids to Europe, and to Disneyland, too. They’re not my kids, but their dad was a punk. They needed to learn what a father—an’ a man—really was.” I didn’t like what I was hearing about the straight sisterhood in Chicago.
“Let’s dance, but not salsa,” I said, after he paid for our drinks and we walked out to Rush Street. We hit Sin, two doors down; a slick club packed with pretty people. The DJ fired up fresh house and ass-shaking remixes. Once again, his dance style was killer, and this time so was mine; we cut a sharp flow on the floor.
“It’s time to take you home,” he said, putting his arm around me as we walked to his car. I leaned into his torso and slipped my arm around his center, and discovered it was rock solid, too. He opened the door, than pressed his lips tenderly against mine.
“Thank you, Vicki Marie.” I smiled back into his brown eyes, not at all sure what he meant, and not needing to know.
I opened my eyes and saw that he had laid his jeans on the chair, and I watched as he stepped out of his shorts and socks. Next, he turned to join me on the bed. “Wait,” I told him. “Stop. Turn around.” He rotated in place slowly, taking his time, like he understood my need to look. Naked in the dim light, his faultless musculature seized my view and I stared in awe at the body before me. I could only compare him to a Greek statue; this was no Roman imitation. This was a body gifted from the heavens themselves, a flawless original, and the most pristine example of masculine design I had ever seen. No one would argue that this wasn’t the master blueprint for creating the perfect man: an ebony landscape of chiseled contours, a perfect symmetry of shadowed depressions and rising plains.
“You are amazing,” I exhaled with my words. “You are a beautiful man.”
His humility was sincere as he thanked me. We locked eyes as he crossed back to the bed where I lay naked, undressed moments earlier, by his hands and my cooperation in the fierceness of desire.
Our sex was passionate and athletic, audible and acrobatic. I was small, and gratefully overpowered by his impulses and his strength. Every position he folded me into, or lifted me up to, was a blessing, and a trigger for deeper response. My body was fully dominated but never passive; my submission was my activation. His passion found no resistance, as I pressed and spread and contracted into each unexpected orientation with a hunger and a physicality I hadn’t known I was capable of. This was the same feeling I had experienced in Paris and that I knew was possible with a potent lover. This was what I wanted in my life: a partner with a drive and a desire to push sexual capacity, unhinged from love, as far as I could go.
When morning raced into the room, Kyle said he would drive me to the airport. I told him I would take a taxi, but he insisted. Traffic was heavy, and the drive took some time. He had the radio on, and as the old school R&B spun, and the DJs entertained, I thought back on the evening. It had been perfect in every way; maybe even the best date of my life. It definitely rivaled those grand nights in Paris, with that woman who’d had a monopoly on the best date title for more than twenty years.
After setting my bags on the curb at Midway Field, Kyle asked for my phone number. Of course, I wanted to see him again, but reality was geographic; the plane was returning me to Seattle. Besides, I suspected Chicago’s Finest had asked out of social obligation, and I preferred a more honest farewell. We were adults. We’d had sex. We moved on.
“I’m gonna call you—but you have to gimme your number, first.”
“Kyle,” I said, trying to let him off the hook, “I’m leaving the country next week—I’ll be hiking in the Himalayas for a month. You can’t call me.”
“When you get back?”
I was annoyed, and I had a plane to catch. He was never going to call me. I knew it. He knew it. Why couldn’t we just thank one another for a mind-blowing moment, and move on with our lives?
When I’d told Katsu I couldn’t bear the idea of a string of one-night stands, I was arguing against sex without a connection. I wanted to be stirred, because I knew that was how my sexual capacity could be deepened. As my bachelor lifestyle progressed, I came to see that I’d underestimated what was possible between two people destined for only a single night of passion.
The evenings with Kyle and Brian were two examples. I had been touched by both of these men. My life had been enriched by the social energy we shared, and by the time sex came into the scene the exchange of energy burned between us. Our connections were brief, only a moment in a lifetime, but timetables were irrelevant. It was meaningful to me, and that was all that mattered.
TOMORROW: Chapter 26
Copyright Vicki Marie Stolsen, 2014, Forever Forty-Four Publications, Publicity Rare Bird Lit, Tyson Cornell, Tyson@rarebirdlit.com, Distribution by Ingram, Available online and in bookstores in paperback, eBook, and audio format.