Thrill Seekers: Erotic Encounters. Elizabeth Coldwell
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punches. Maybe she could have been a contender but there was something elliptical, something defensive in her voice that put audiences off until they fulfilled the two drink minimum. It would take a long while before I found out what this buff babe did for a living. I didn’t care. I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend or my soul mate. Before moving to San Francisco, every day held no more excitement or an ounce more of texture than a bowl of oatmeal. I wanted nights glazed with marzipan and cherries. Life, if lived to the fullest, had to taste like something.
Bella tasted like hops, sugar and wine, perhaps because she lived on all three. We met in the middle of the night, our bodies calling out to each other like island castoffs looking to be saved. There was a Casual Dating column in a free weekly paper. Back in the day, a ‘casual date’ was code for strangers who wanted to hook up, fuck each other’s brains out and skedaddle. Animal sex. Raw rogering. The kind of coupling that was only good with a stranger you knew would remain a stranger like a masked mystery at a costume ball.
My date paid for the room. I was too busy checking her out to notice the overpowering smell of chemicals drifting from the hot tub. I laid some towels down on the canvas pad countless people had used as a makeshift bed, presumably for illicit purposes. It was no secret that hookers and their johns took advantage of places like this.
‘How do you want it?’ the stranger asked, smirking knowingly.
‘Whatever you can give me, I want now,’ I said, matching her attitude if not upping the ante. ‘That’s why I’m here. I just want to get off.’
Bella’s black spiky mane appeared shiny even under dim lights. Her hair seemed as much armor as the torn black leather jacket she quickly tossed to the side, knocking over a bowl of complimentary breath mints.
‘Take off your skirt and bend over my lap,’ she commanded.
I thought she’d fingerfuck me from behind or tickle my crack with a butt plug, but no. From the first slam of her palm on my goose bumped flesh, I knew I was in for a sound spanking.
Her slaps came down evenly and succinctly until I squirmed, accidentally scratching the skin beneath her cargo pants.
She pulled me up by the hair, surprising me with a kiss, her tongue probing so sweetly, I shuddered with delight.
‘You need to trim those fingernails, hon,’ she said gently.
Then, it was back to a no-nonsense paddling. Her hands were an ode to rhythm; unlike her voice, her palms were born to perform. The cadence of smacks could not be measured against the pleasure she gave. I could feel my bum burning with sensation and wanted only to be branded with her version of love. She was all over me now and my pelvis bucked, welcoming the chaos of her swats.
Finally, she turned me over, straddling my torso.
‘That’s what I think of femmes who just want to get off,’ she whispered while running her tongue along my temple.
I lifted the T-shirt she was wearing and was amazed to see she had bound her bosom in gauze. At first I had just assumed she was flat-chested.
‘Why do you do this?’ I asked, too curious to worry about my stinging behind. ‘Breasts are beautiful.’
Bella snorted. ‘On you, doll. What? Are you turned off now?’
‘Just the opposite. Touch me and see how turned on I am.’
She let one sinewy arm snake between my legs. I smiled at her reaction.
‘You hot chick. Where have you been all my life?’
‘Tell you later. Information traded only on satisfaction.’
Bella worked my clit with her finger pads, massaging the pip until it ached with a need to be sucked. When she plunged her digits into my vulva, I cried out shamelessly begging for more.
‘Fuck me,’ I begged. ‘Don’t stop.’
She didn’t stop. She plugged my pussy with her fingers, packing my vagina with as much passion as it could hold. Having brought me to orgasm that way, she quickly tugged off her pants and mounted my glistening mound.
Our pussies were meant for each other. Her clit snicked into place over my nub while she rode my labia with her own. While our mounds locked in a fevered embrace, Bella’s mouth covered mine as we fucked and sucked each other’s tongues like we were the very first people to discover sex. Sex with one’s own sex. So free. So uninhibited.
I wished it would last forever, or at least all night.
But this wasn’t that kind of date.
We were kissing and lathering each other’s bodies in the shower when a voice over an intercom told us we had ten minutes to wrap up, take our business elsewhere. Chop, chop.
It was a little unnerving but … what did I expect?
I knew how guys responded to the question: When will I see you again? I couldn’t risk Bella rolling her eyes at me or worse, speaking words that sounded sincere only to prove false.
We walked outside into a mild September breeze. I was instantly glad I had parked my ride at the far end of the lot.
‘I’ll walk you to your car,’ she offered.
I gulped, feeling far more naked than I was twenty minutes earlier. I pointed to a teal blue number that had cost me less than a week’s pay; it was the vehicular equivalent of a paper weight. ‘Actually, that’s me over there. The scooter.’
Bella guffawed. ‘A baby bike! That’s so precious. I wish I could tuck you in my back pocket and take you home.’
I wish you could, too, I thought. Home for me was an apartment in North Beach without even a cat for company.
‘Look,’ she said, leveling her gaze to meet the query in my eyes. ‘I’m embroiled in a sticky situation right now. We made a connection and I really like you. Give me your number and I’ll call when I’m not so … complicated.’
I shrugged. It was a ridiculous ritual but one that begged to be gotten through. I wrote my info on a cocktail napkin and watched Bella hop on her motorcycle. She drove a Yamaha Route 66: a real bike.
I watched her pull away knowing I’d never see her again. Still, I didn’t regret meeting Ms. Sex on Wheels. That was the most excitement I’d ever had in my life. The next time I masturbated, I would simply close my eyes and think of Bella. She tried to look tough but her heart-shaped face, soft hands and delicate mouth betrayed how beautiful she really was.
And the way she kissed and caressed my bottom after the spanking proved she was a giver not just a taker. If only she had looked over her shoulder as she pulled out of the parking lot; I would have followed her to the moon if she had dared me.
***
In the morning, I considered calling in sick but knew my voice would have sounded too elated to fool anyone. I had a dreary, albeit well-paying, job at an insurance company and I didn’t dare lose it. I had moved to a very expensive city. My employer was a severe woman who never smiled and always wore pantsuits with those embarrassing frilly shells that went out of style in the 70s. She caught me daydreaming twice and pulled me into her office.
‘You’re having difficulty concentrating today, Ashley. Is there a problem?’
‘No, Ma’am.’ And then, because her lips made no effort to move and she wasn’t going to dismiss me without further explanation, I added, ‘I met someone.’
‘Indeed.’ Steepling her branchlike fingers, she sat up straight in her leather wingback chair. ‘If I catch you dawdling again I’ll require you to compose a memo to me explicating the exact reasons for your inability to focus. If that’s not enough to rein in your imagination you’ll want to have a contingency plan.’
No doubt about it: Ms. Swanson was a first-rate bitch. To this day, I can’t remember her first name. It began with a ‘P’, I think. Once, during my first week on the job,