Текст книги "Wild Cards"

Автор книги: R.C. Stephens

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter 3

Vicky

Present

“Ma’am can I get you a drink?” the cheery flight attendant asked with a bright smile. She was young, and beautiful, and blonde, the complete opposite of me, especially the cheery part.

“Sure, I’ll take a Coke,” I responded with a sad tone. I hadn’t smiled for two years. I wasn’t going to fake a smile for the flight attendant. Fuck her and fuck the world.

“Hey, my name is Sandy.” The girl sitting beside me smiled. Geez, what was it with all the cheery people? With her white blouse and grey cardigan sweater she looked like a good girl. She sat waiting for my response, for me to introduce myself, her brown eyes were wide and her brown hair looked perfectly groomed with little tendrils at the ends. She must have been about my age but there was a drastic difference between us, she didn’t carry the same heaviness on her shoulders that I carry. She didn’t look like she peeled herself out of bed this morning, dreading the idea of making it through another day. No, Sandy was a cheery, happy girl and I’m bent on just getting by.

I’ve clearly left her hanging too long when I noticed her lips turned down. “Vicky,” I responded curtly, placing my head back on the headrest and closing my eyes. I want peace and quiet. I want to drown in thoughts, in memories…they are all I have now. I had no intention of making small talk with a stranger, even if she was a sweet girl. Sandy shifted her body so she was facing the seat in front of her and pulled a fashion magazine out of her knapsack. Good, she got the message.

“Are you from Toronto?” she asked, still trying. For fucking real? I inwardly huffed. I thought I got her off my back.

“No, Thunder Bay,” I answered with my eyes still closed and not moving an inch. Get the point, I don’t want to converse.

“I’m from New York City. I’m heading home. I came to visit my aunt on my father’s side. It was lots of fun. I got to see cousins and family that I haven’t seen for ages,” she blabbers without pausing for a breath. All I can hear is blah, blah, blah. She really picked the wrong person to tell happy family stories to.

I lifted my head from the headrest, clearly irritated. “Look, uh.” I paused, forgetting her name.

“Sandy.” She nodded, her smile slowly fading.

“Sandy, it’s nothing personal, I’m not in the mood to talk,” I snap. Then I placed my head back on the headrest and close my eyes. After a couple moments of silence I figured message delivered. Yes, relief!

I’m headed to New York City. It was my first time leaving Canada on my own, but I thought I planned the trip quite well, considering it was the first time I had to do these things without the help of a parent. Step one was to get off the plane and take a cab to the motel I booked. With only a grand in my purse, I prayed it didn’t cost too much to get there. I had to stretch the use of my money as far as possible and achieve the goal I came to accomplish. Maybe then I won’t feel so alone. Maybe then I’d be able to get back to the person I was before. Maybe then I could talk to normal people like Sandy. They seemed so happy, determined, and loved, everything I wasn’t.

I wasn’t too optimistic about the outcome of this trip. My hope, along with my life, had been buried six feet under, and I didn’t think there were any prospects for change. I’m locked in this torturous cycle of finding my next fix: a way to end the pain, to fill my broken heart, even if it was for a brief moment.

The pilot’s voice sounded on the intercom. “We will begin our descent into New York City, please fasten your seat belts.” I looked out the window at the sun shining bright above the clouds. The plane slowly descended and the city came into view. I admired the tall buildings, closely knit together. They looked like a massive Lego city I built when I was a kid. As the plane descended, the buildings grew larger and I’d never seen anything like it. Yeah, I went into Toronto a couple of times this year but this….this was bigger and fascinating.

Leaving the plane and walking through the terminal, my heart accelerated in my chest. It didn’t feel like excitement. I hadn’t been excited for over two years. Maybe it’s fear, or uncertainty. Being alone in a big city didn’t scare me, I’ve gotten used to being alone. It didn’t matter where I went… or maybe it did. As my palms began to sweat at the thought of being in such a large city on my own, I realized that although I felt alone in Thunder Bay, there was a certain familiarity there that made me feel safe. It was the place I grew up, I knew the parks, the people, the local store owners, but none of that mattered in the end because without a family I had no one to lean on, no one to share my grief.

As I walked off the plane and down the long hallways of La Guardia Airport, the familiar sadness I’d been experiencing washes over me once again, causing my eyes to water, but they only water. I didn’t shed a tear, because it won’t change anything. I lugged my large duffle bag full of clothes behind me as I walked up to an immigration officer and showed my passport.

“Is your trip business or pleasure ma’am?” he asked with a serious look on his face and a stern voice. I was not sure what to reply, it was not business really, but it wasn’t pleasure either.

“I guess pleasure,” I replied nonchalantly. Then I pass the officer a copy of my birth certificate to show him I was an American citizen.

“If you’re an American, you should be flying with an American passport,” he explained sternly. Shit, why did I show him that? Stupid.

“Well, I just found out I was an American,” I replied, rolling my eyes at the officer and then I immediately regretted my rude reaction.

“Alright ma’am, go ahead,” he replied curtly, stamping my passport and motioning me to move on. Clearly he wasn’t interested in my shit either.

Exiting through the sliding doors I was met with a faint breeze. Taxis drove by swiftly and everyone looked tense and rushed. I started to think that there was no place like home, but then I remembered that I don’t have a home anymore, I don’t even have a Toto. I quickly found a bus to Queens and fell back in an empty seat, placing my duffle bag on the floor beside me. It was a long drive giving me more time to think. That was maybe one of the worst parts of loneliness, all the time you had to think and mull things over. It made my situation that much worse and pushed me into the endless cycle I’d been in for the last two years.

That night my plan was to settle into the motel, and take a subway into Manhattan the next day to see if there was any real purpose to my trip, or if I was chasing a dream that would never pan out. I was so worked up that my patience was wearing down and I wanted to go to the Upper West Side now and find out, but dressed the way I was, in a pair of ripped blue jeans and a tight black top I figured, I should look a little classier for the meeting.

The bus finally arrived in Queens. Before I stepped off the bus I asked the driver if he’d heard of my motel, and he directed me two blocks down the road. When I entered the motel I was disappointedly taken aback. Yeah, it said it was two stars on the Internet, but this place looked like grunge city. My family home was nothing special, but it was always clean.

I got the key from the front desk and headed up a flight of steps to my room, which was a bitch since the heavy duffle bag weighed me down. The damn place didn’t even have an elevator. At the top of the stairs was a long hallway. As I carried the duffle bag behind me, the smell of mold and something really old that I couldn’t identify wafted up my nose causing my stomach to roll. I made it to room 212 and used my key to open the door. I didn’t even realize that motels still used keys. Any trips I took with my parents involved a hotel with a room card to slide through a door. I swung the door open and grabbed my duffle, hauling it inside and huffing from the exertion. There was a double bed in the middle of the room with an olive green blanket on top. The carpet was mustard yellow but it may just have been dirty. At least there was a window I told myself, trying to look at the glass as half full. Who was I kidding? The window was facing a brick wall and a flashing sign that shined brightly into the room. This place was a shit hole. Peeking into the bathroom, it looked just as bad. The toilet was a yellowy orange and the shower had the same tinge to it.

Maybe I should have never come; maybe this was a sign that it was a big mistake. I fell back onto the bed and cried my eyes out, I hadn’t cried for so long and I deserved to now. My heaves turned into whimpers, and then feeling spent I ceased to cry, a part of me felt vindicated and a part of me felt like my tears were pointless. Once I shed my last tear, I shoved off the bed and put on a pair of flip-flops. I needed a shower and there was no way I was going to walk into the cesspool of grossness barefoot. I showered as quickly as I could lathering the soap at a frantic pace so I could get out fast, at least there was hot water. Then I stepped out and put on my sexy lingerie and a slinky red dress that barely covered my behind.

I checked my phone… I should be receiving an email any minute about the next private get together. For the past two and a half years I’d made my way into Toronto to hit the sex clubs, since we didn’t have those kinds of clubs in Thunder Bay. After the night I was attacked, I went into a deep depression and I stopped going completely. Things at home spiraled into a black hole of oblivion, and I was drowning inside while no one knew or was there to help. Not my brother Joe, not my drunk father, no one. It was hard to describe those days now that I look back, but it was like I was living inside a bubble where reality didn’t feel real.

Then one day, maybe a month later, Nessa came pounding on my front door like a bat out of hell and shoved her face in mine and made me talk about it. She made me say how that night made me feel, she made me face my grim reality. She also revealed that she had been raped before. After the two of us bawled our eyes out, she forced my ass out for a night on the town in Thunder Bay. I was by no means cured. I knew I would carry the hurt that the nameless stranger caused me around in my heart forever, but I came back to the land of the living in a sense. I couldn’t see myself in a monogamous relationship, I couldn’t see myself doing much. The truth is, the sex clubs were packed with people and had security. They were safe and they made me feel all kinds of good, and I wanted those moments even more now than before.

The scene in Canada was different than New York. Back in Canada there were legal clubs where people walked around as they wished and fucked who they wanted. The places were monitored but only to a certain extent. There was no need for blood tests or criminal checks at the door. Maybe that is how I got myself into that much trouble years ago. Nessa looked into it when I told her my plans to come to New York, and she contacted a guy from Toronto who had a friend here in New York City. Apparently the scene here was underground. There were no legal sex clubs in the city, which sounded more promising because they were selective of their guest list and required a clean blood test for admission. I had gone for a blood test and sent them a picture of myself while I was still in Thunder Bay. I got the green light that I was put on the exclusive list of guests. Knowing that things were so closely looked after gave me the confidence to go by myself tonight. Since the night of my rape I haven’t left Nessa at a party, which in some ways can get awkward when we find ourselves getting off in near proximity to each other.

I slicked on some bright red lipstick and straightened my black shoulder length hair with a dryer. I brushed some black mascara along my lashes, making them fuller than they already were, and finally slipped on my red stiletto heels making a perfect touch to my sexy ensemble. Did I look like I walked the streets selling my body? Maybe. My outfit was a head turner, the only thing that gave me slight unease was whose heads I’d be turning on this end of town. I could get mugged and killed. As the thought entered my mind I shrugged it off, thinking that wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I would be put out of my misery. I threw on my black overcoat and my phone beeped showing a message. I looked down to see an email from the anonymous sender about the party location. I grabbed my purse, hid my cash under the mattress and headed out the door into the brisk fall night.

***

The email said Park Avenue. I gave the cabbie the address and I was on my way. New York was busy compared to the small town I grew up in. With so many people walking the streets and so many bright lights it made me dizzy. I noticed the change of scenery on the drive from Queens into Manhattan. Finally, the cabbie stopped in front of a posh building with a doorman standing at the entrance. I was a little out of my league, but I exited the cab, squaring my shoulders, and inhaling a deep breath. I made my way to the door and smiled at the young handsome doorman giving him my password. The doorman smiled and nodded, escorting me to the elevator. I could practically feel him undressing me with his eyes, and a part of me enjoyed the attention. The elevator rose up to the penthouse. Whoever it was throwing this party must be swimming in it. A sudden wave of nerves washed over me and my insides began to tremble. I didn’t want to go in on my own, back home I had Nessa. I tried to convince her to come on this trip with me, but something held her back and it was something she didn’t want to discuss. I knew about secrets. I knew what it was like to hold them inside you. I couldn’t push her. Now I was here by myself about to enter a party. I couldn’t turn back, what I needed was so close I couldn’t walk away. It was the only way to get myself to feel, to interact with people, to get out from inside my head.

The vibrant world of sex parties saved me. People weren’t judged because of their preferences and the environment was welcoming. As I grasped the handle, the front door opened and I held my breath, wondering what awaited on the other side. I walked inside directly into an extravagant living space, lavish and grand. The penthouse was huge with a winding staircase to the second floor. The furniture looked imported, with gold accents on everything from the tables and chairs to the door handles. The carpets were exotic and the lighting was exquisite with large crystal chandeliers that were dimmed and set off a shimmer into the dark room. So this was how the other half lived. I never knew, most families where I came from were working class and made just enough to get by. There was no money for fancy jewelry and new cars, and yet most were content with what they had, my family had been content at one time too, before everything fell apart.

I sauntered over to the coat check and slipped off my coat, feeling a little self-conscious. I knew I shouldn’t feel this way, I never had before, but this was new in a different way. Maybe they played by different rules.

As I gauged my surroundings, I noticed that the penthouse was filled with people but it wasn’t overly packed. My connection in Toronto said, ‘Everyone had to try a New York party once in their life,’ but it was more than I expected. Waitresses walked around in black lace bras and matching black lace thongs, handing out hors d’oeuvres and champagne, while an addictive beat thumped in the background.

These parties weren’t really about the drinking, even though, the champagne was welcome to calm my nerves and warm my veins. The rules to these parties were that ladies could come on their own, but men had to come with a date. As my eyes roamed the room I tried for nonchalance as I took in the beautiful forms present. Ladies were in exquisite lingerie of fine lace and beading, with beautiful ribbons adorning their exotic bodies. The men were just as sensuous with strong hard bodies and wearing some form of boxer shorts or buck-naked. Watching them was making my mouth water and my body hum with need. It was still quite early and people were mingling, although it appeared that an orgy had formed along one of the couches. The fabric of the couch was a rich cream with golden wood moldings along the frame. The couch was long and large with a high frame back. Everything about this place felt like it belonged in a museum. As I watched four couples lined up along the couch having sex, my need for my own release grew.

The first couple was a gorgeous guy with a ripped body and short buzzed brown hair. He had a blonde lady with the perfect amount of curves on top of him, riding his cock. Her head flailed back and her blonde hair swished in the air, adding to the sexual ambiance in the room. The couple next to them was an exotic mix, a brunette with tanned skin and mid-length hair. She was sitting spread eagle while a blonde man with pale skin was licking between her legs. As my eyes roamed to the next couple my need to play heightened.

The third couple was a woman with jet-black hair, she looked Asian with the perfect body and small tits like mine. She was on her knees sucking off a dark skinned man; he looked to be a mix of Caucasian and African American. His hands tousled her hair as he watched her take in his large cock. The look on his face was one of carnal lust.

Within minutes of arriving, my skin warmed and I was successfully pulled from my lonely reality, albeit temporarily, the emptiness in the pit of my stomach would never cease. The empty breaths I took to pass another day. The pain of loss never wavering. As the sexual energy thrummed throughout the room, I found it hypnotizing and therapeutic. I strolled around in search of an available prospect, a brief connection. I slipped off my red dress, exposing a red lace bra with matching panties and my red stilettos. Did I look cheap? Maybe, my lingerie was lacking in the intricate embroidery department as most of the ensembles this evening were dressed in crystals and ribbons beyond what I’ve ever seen. The level of wealth didn’t throw me off. These parties weren’t for the purposes of displaying wealth. They were for pleasure and beauty. I was by no means vain. I felt my own inadequacies with my small breasts, but I was comfortable enough in my own skin, and my body hummed as it usually did when the time for play was near.

This crowd seemed familiar with one another, and on some level I felt like the outsider that I was. They looked upper class and maybe a part of the same social circles. As the night progressed more people were hooking up, and I took on the role of onlooker. I didn’t like this role, despite the fact that it was socially acceptable, a lot of the partners liked to give a good show. It was like watching porn, only live, but for me it didn’t curb my needs or fill my lonely heart.

I climbed the long staircase, my hand caressing the unique golden railing that felt cool under my fingers. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was real gold. Feeling slightly tense to be walking through a stranger's home, I cautiously roamed the house. I counted five bedrooms in all, one with a locked door. Each room was similar to the next, all with large king sized beds nestled between beautiful 19^th Century French furniture. The beds were adorned in intricate tapestries and gorgeous people were fucking and playing all over them. The simultaneous orgasms strung through the room like a violinist stringing a rapid beat. My heart rate sped up as I felt a pang of jealousy. I wanted to feel alive and thrumming like them. The intense sexual energy was an overwhelming aphrodisiac I wanted to taste, but there were no prospects. Couples had swapped partners and were ‘playing’ out different fantasies. One couple had a man commanding a woman to give another guy a blow job. He was dictating how she should suck him off and which ways to move her tongue. The man was so turned on that his dick was pulsating in front of him.

When the other man came all over her mouth, her partner pushed himself into her and started fucking her from behind. I had to admit not every part of the scene enticed me. There were people and preferences I didn’t care for, but there were also people that gave me exactly what I wanted that appeared to need that connection, even if it was with a complete stranger. It didn’t really make sense when I thought too much about it, but then it did make sense when I reminded myself that everyone has needs, and some of us have a handicap on their heart. We are unable to give it away in that special way because we’ve seen and experienced devastation or have been traumatized so badly that our ability to love has been taken away, or buried deep down. I sometimes wonder why others are here. Are they like me? I know some of them are, you can see the distant look of pain in their eyes. Then, there are those that can’t stay in a monogamous relationship, and those that want to test out their fantasies, and all those reasons are perfect, real, and honest. It’s why I like to come. The people here don’t hide who they are, they just are.

As I strolled out of a bedroom I felt the chance of a prospect for the evening waning. I paused in front of the golden bannister to take in the scene down below, the luscious view of the numerous orgies. I was so turned on…

“Hello.” A man came up beside me and leaned on the bannister. He was incredibly tall, over six feet for sure, with a muscular build. His eyes were green like mine but there were specs of gold sprinkled in them. When he looked at me, I felt the need to look away. There was something intense and forbidden in his gaze. His dark hair was wet and slicked back, like he may have stepped out of a Calvin Klein underwear ad and he was wearing a pair of Calvin Klein briefs and a white tank that showed off his strong abs and narrow waistband. His accent was thick and gruff and matched his strong body and tough poise.

“Hi,” I responded, feeling my legs buckling. The apartment was lust filled but his presence caused the air in the room to shift as a spike of electricity bolted through me. My eyes roamed every inch of the fine male specimen in front of me: powerful, sexy, beautiful.

“Luc, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he extended his hand, using that raspy accent that sounded like heaven.

“Vicky,” I replied firmly, not allowing my weak-at-the-knees feeling to betray my front. As I extended my hand to his, his tough demeanor was at odds with his gentle response as he took my hand, gently brushing his sensuous lips across my heated skin. My body betrayed me as shooting need burst straight to my hungry core.

“Why is a pretty girl like you by herself?” he asked with a slight grin.

“I should be asking you the same question,” I replied nervously, hoping to hide how much his presence affected me, and feeling like I sounded stupid at the same time. My cheeks flushed…did I just call him a girl?

He threw his head back laughing a deep throaty laugh, clearly amused by my answer.

“Are you new to town? I’ve haven’t seen you around,” he asked, drawing his thick dark brows together.

“You could say that,” I replied curtly, and his lip tugged up further making him look even sexier.

“How about you?” I asked, figuring that his accent was definitely not a New York accent.

He nodded his head. “I’m from France, but I’ve been living in New York for two years now. This is my home.” He waved his hand in the air to show me that the extravagant apartment belonged to him.

“Well, you have a beautiful home, Luc.” I smiled and his gaze intensified. His mere presence made me want to drop my panties. I don’t remember ever feeling that kind of want before. I always got turned on at the parties, it was hard not to. The conversation with this man was making me want something more intimate. It was a feeling that I hadn’t had in a long time.

“Thanks,” he replied with a slight smirk. “You are an exquisite beauty,” he said, leaning in to me, our shoulders slightly brushed. The connection of our skin was like electricity jolting me.

“So do you throw a lot of these parties?” I asked, unsure of what to say next after his compliment.

“No, I’m hosting for the first time,” he responded with a smirk, looking down at the orgies beneath us.

“Oh, so how come you’re not involved in the festivities?” I asked looking directly at him. Two and a half years ago I would have been embarrassed to ask such a question, at least the question would have never dawned on me. But two and a half years ago I was living a different life, I didn’t know this world even existed. I had no need for it. I was happy and content. Not anymore, I’d lost feeling. I’d lost my inhibitions. Everything inside me had died. I craved contact, not love. I’m not sure I’m capable of love after the pain I’d experienced.

“I only watch, I don’t touch,” he said sternly and his thick accent rolled off his tongue. I’m not sure I heard him correctly. It was acceptable to be an onlooker, but with his looks and sexuality it seemed wrong on all levels.

“So you’re only holding this party so you can watch people, but you don’t have sex?” I asked, furrowing my own brows now. This man was too beautiful not to engage his sexuality. “Are you a monk?” I asked, throwing him off guard, maybe people aren’t so forward around here.

“Something like that,” he nodded, almost repeating my curt answer to him earlier.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Luc,” I said, pulling away from the staircase and walking down the stairs. I felt his eyes on me as I descended the staircase. For some reason I felt a sense of loss walking away from him. Why would someone put themselves through the torture of holding one of these parties and not indulge? Feeling hot and bothered, I made my way to a large chair across from the exquisitely large couch. A moment later a man came up to me and introduced himself. It was the same guy I had watched getting a blow job earlier. The one that was half Caucasian and half African American. His built body and tanned skin were hot, but his eyes were out of this world, an arctic blue I had never seen before.

He kneeled down in front of me. “Can we play?” he asked kindly. The truth is that I had my mind set on Luc. As beautiful and exotic as this man was, my body didn’t have that humming response I just felt moments ago.

I nodded and he spread my legs, knowing that this was the better option. “You are the most striking woman in this room,” he said. “I needed a taste of you.” I spread my legs wide for him and he dipped his head between my thighs, licking at my core. He was slow at first. His tongue lashing out at my soft skin caused my need to grow quickly. I leaned back in the chair as my breathing grew ragged and my stomach clenched. I was so turned on by everything I had seen tonight that I needed this. I needed to let go. He began to lick faster, harder, my hips bucked with his delectable tongue. I’m not sure why but I couldn’t get Luc or his tormented look out of my head. I knew I had to focus on the here and now. It wasn’t my job to save anyone, especially when I was hanging on to this life by a thread. As my eyes gazed up, I was taken aback to see green eyes with gold flecks filled with lust and longing staring back at me. The look in his eyes turned me on more and I suddenly felt the need to close them.

When I closed my eyes it was still Luc I envisioned going down on me and not the stranger in front of me. I had to clear my brain. I hadn’t given a man a second thought in far too long and this couldn’t be good. I willed my mind to focus on the exotic man in front of me doing wonders with his tongue. As the first reverberations of my orgasm hit me, I pushed any thoughts of Luc from my mind and pushed my hips into the tongue that was fucking me perfectly. Only then I realized it wasn’t so perfect. Although my swollen folds clenched and I cried out from his lapping tongue; I forced myself to enjoy this high, this ecstasy with no intimacy. I convinced myself it was all I could handle. When I’d finally come down from my orgasm, the man stood tall in front of me with a sensuous smile. “You’re delicious.” He bit his lip tasting the remnants of my wetness. I didn’t respond as a whirlwind of fear flashed through me. I wanted to look up again but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to look into Luc’s eyes. I was scared of what I would see or want to know. The exotic man in front of me gently kissed my hand and bowed his head. His arctic blue eyes were so perfectly stunning but didn’t make me feel a thing. He walked off and I was relieved that the encounter was over.

Something felt off with me that night, and I didn’t like it. I had walked in there so sure of myself, so comfortable with finding a stranger to interact with. Now after one single and brief encounter, my head felt muffled, as did my heart. It scared me; panic was beginning to take hold on my throat. The truth was, I felt like things were just getting started with the exotic man before he walked off. I still needed more sex to quell my swollen folds. I knew I shouldn’t look for Luc even if I was being honest with myself, because he was exactly who I wanted, but it wasn’t just sex. I wanted to understand his pain. Just thinking about it made it sound messed up, but doesn’t misery love company? I didn’t need someone to fix me anyway; I was not fixable. As the torrent of thoughts caused my panic to rise, I knew I needed a distraction, one free of emotional baggage.

I searched the room for another partner, but everyone on the main floor seemed taken, so I sauntered back up the long winding staircase, naked this time. My earlier insecurities about my rather simple lingerie had melted away and I was back in my element. Carefree and numb I took the stairs briskly.

Upstairs I passed Luc gazing down on the crowd. I felt like he was watching me but he wouldn’t turn his head to acknowledge me. I was unsettled by the fact that I found his lack of acknowledgement irritating. I could tell I affected him somehow. I entered one of the bedrooms. A sexy blond man was watching a threesome on the bed. He was sitting on a long chair with his legs spread out in front of him fully erect. His dark brown eyes were swallowed by the darkness in the room. He noticed my entrance and sat upright.