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Impact of Collision
“Ohmygodimsosorry! Ohmygod! I’m such a… let me!”
She looks panicked. I’ve soaked her. She’s not wearing a bra.
“Please, I can fix this,” I promise. She had been sitting next to me at the little bar, her with her date, me with mine. I’d been listening and admiring her first-date patter while I waited for my date to arrive… and as much as I could after he’d come. She was way more interesting than the finance bro I’d saddled myself with for the evening.
I had turned to stand up with my glass when our table was ready, but hadn’t expected her to be getting up at the same time. I doused her. We were facing each other, both looking at her dark nipples showing through the sheer silk of her shirt. The horror on her face mirroring my own. Thank god it was rosé.
“Trust me,” I pleaded and pulled her towards me so my chest was blocking any view of hers.
“May I have some napkins and a pint of seltzer?” I asked the bartender, who was a lovely older blonde. She understood and snapped into action.
Seltzer in hand, we pushed past a girl waiting for the restroom.
“Hey!”
“We’ll be quick,” I lied.
I usher her into the little bathroom. I start to kneel, and have to force myself to just dip my knees and stoop. We exchanged a look, did she see what I did?
I begin dabbing at the stain with the seltzer. The rosé is bright pink against the cream silk; the seltzer making it all more see through. Her nipples are oily looking through the silk. I’m flushing with shame.
“Disaster,” I apologise. She untucks and pulls her shirt away from her chest, allowing me to mop it with the napkin more easily. I again fight the impulse to kneel.
‘Stop it!’ I think.
“You’re Sarah?” She asks. I look up in surprise. “I heard you introduce yourself to your date, I’m Claire.”
“I know,” I admit. “And you’re a curator, which is the coolest thing ever!”
“Sounds like your date is as interesting as mine,” she laughs. “But yeah, I work in a gallery in TriBeCa – ‘curator’ is inflating what I do. I’m more of a ‘gallery girl’ still.”
“Well the artist you’re working with sounds amazing,” I tell her.
“Sophie,” she tells me absently. She’s looking over at her reflection.
If it weren’t for her hazel eyes, which are warm and kind, I might have described Claire as an icy blonde. Her thick hair was pulled back tight into a loose bun, and her face was beautifully made up. More makeup than I wear, but not too much. She looks elegant and mature in a way I can only dream of.
“I’m so sorry for wrecking your date,” I tell her.
“Yeah, don’t be, he sucks,” she laughs. “We couldn’t even get to our table and he was already talking about Ayn Rand.”
“Mine too!” I blurt. “I mean, Bitcoin, but same thing right? I knew it was coming as soon as he walked in, but fuck!”
I’m pleasantly surprised by how well I’ve done getting rid of the pink.
“May I?” I ask before pushing my left hand up into her shirt, palm out. There is a stack of cottony white paper towels on the counter, and I begin drying the shirt using my hand as a backer.
“This was a pretty elaborate ruse to get into my shirt,” Claire quips.
“Yeah, uhh, well, uhh,” I stammer, “this is as far as I’ve gone with anyone on a date in a long time!”
“Me too!” she said, as we shared a nervous laugh.
I finish drying it as much as I can before pulling my hand out, the back of my hand accidentally brushing against her stiff nipple.
“Ohmygod! I’m so sorry!” I blurt out.
The shirt falls back against Claire’s breasts, it’s no longer transparent, but her nipples are tenting the damp silk. They look oily, dark and stiff.
“Looks like the girls are awake,” she says, looking down at herself. “I can’t go out like this.”
‘This is all my fault,’ I think. I look away, feeling my face flush anew.
“Do you want to tell me more about the show you’re working on?” I ask doubtfully. “I mean, until they uhhh… go down?”
I can see my reflection in the mirror, I’m beet red. Claire is tucking her blouse back in.
“No… What do you think?” She asks, looking at herself in the mirror. “Would you fuck me?”
Her shirt is still a little bit damp, and her dark nipples are hard and long. Her expression is brazen and fierce. I wonder if I’ve ever looked that sexy, if I’ve ever looked half that sexy.
“I’d totally fuck you,” I deadpan.
“It’s decided, I’ll give them all a show,” she says to her reflection. “Sarah, I’m guessing you’re the highlight of my evening. Thanks so much for taking care of me.”
“Oh but-“
“No really. You’re a gem.” She gives me a quick peck on each cheek, as she leaves.
I just stand there with a stupid grin on my face, as I watch her stride through the crowd – high beams on. I notice my date, he’s standing near the hostess, looking annoyed.
‘Disaster,’ mersin escort I think, looking at his sour expression, my heart dropping.
We go through the motions, until my date ends abruptly. I look around as I walk out but Claire had already gone.
I took the subway back uptown and went over my date in my mind. He seemed a bit evasive when talking about himself, all he would talk about was work. He showed up late, yet he was annoyed at me for rushing to the bathroom to help Claire clean my wine from her shirt.
‘You were my highlight too, Claire,’ I thought.
Before the entrees arrived my “wife-alert” alarm bells had started ringing. A month or so after Danny left, I’d started seeing a guy named William who I’d really liked. He was handsome in a nerdy way, funny, lots of interesting ideas, but after a few weeks I realized William was married. He said he was from out of town initially, but then he always messaged about catching up mid week, he had only wanted to come to my place but would never stay the night. He was never free on weekends and didn’t want to talk on the phone. Not only was his social media almost non-existent, he freaked out the first time I said something about posting a picture of us.
He never told me, but it all fell into place after accidentally running into him. He was on a date with another woman. It turned out to be his wife, they were celebrating their second wedding anniversary. It’s not her fault he’s a cheater, so I walked past and said my congratulations to the happy couple before leaving the restaurant.
Tonight’s finance bro John Galt reminded me of William from beginning to end. When the waiter placed the check on the table. Mr Galt started to pat down his pockets, pretending to search for his wallet.
“Do you mind getting this?” he asked. “I must have accidentally left my wallet at work in my rush.”
I told him he could PayPal or Venmo me, but the young Master of The Universe said he didn’t use internet banking at all. Neither did William. Funny thing.
I told the waiter to put half on my card. He looked on uncomfortably as John Galt suddenly remembered a billfold he had in his pocket. He paid and left without so much as a goodbye.
‘Why is it so hard?’ I wondered miserably.
When I got out of the hole I had a voicemail waiting for me. Without checking I knew it was my mom. It’s always my mom. I pocket my phone. It’s too late to call her back, but I’ll listen to it before I go to bed.
I tell myself that I’m glad to be walking downtown away from the crowds of Times Square, weaving my way, well south of the strange attractor that is the bus terminal, with it’s mad men, creeps and grifters. My building is an ancient and funky tenement squeezed into an otherwise dense and narrow commercial block. My apartment is a fifth floor walk up looking out on the seedy offices and sweatshops across the street, but it’s close to work and it’s all mine. I love it.
As I undress I think about how young I was when I met Danny. I was a girl, we were high school sweethearts. When I got into Brown he had been so angry, so sure I was breaking up with him. My parents had sided with him.
“What do you need to go there for?” My father had demanded. “UB is a great school.”
I look at myself in the mirror, standing there in just my bra and panties, as I pulled my hair back, “almost a blonde, almost a red head,” as Danny used to say, always disappointed not only in the fact that I wasn’t a wild sexy redhead but also that I wasn’t a sexy dumb blonde. I can’t help it if I’m not a more demonstrative lover, but I proved that I wasn’t dumb when I got my full ride at Brown.
They couldn’t stop me from leaving, not my parents, not even Danny, but I promised them all I’d be true to him. And I had been. Four years of being long-distance. My friends at school had said I was crazy. I told them that they didn’t know Danny. To be fair to them however, Danny didn’t want to know them. He didn’t have many friends outside work and church, and he had made it very clear he wasn’t interested in being friends with “college kids”.
I looked at my boobs, wishing they were smaller. Danny had loved them, had been proud of them, but also would get angry if anyone looked. I had to hide them to avoid fights and arguments. I thought of Claire’s breasts, her dark nipples, they were the perfect size; a nice handful.
“You are a little frisky tonight,” I told my reflection. ‘Way more than a handful,’ I thought to myself as I reached behind to undo the clasp of my bra. Looking at my breasts, they aren’t super perky, but they aren’t saggy either. I wish they were smaller, but they are a nice shape, long, domed by puffy nipples. My areolas, a soft rose pink against my creamy complexion.
‘A nice mouthful’ I think, touching the soft swollen flesh with my fingers, but picturing Claire’s lips. I shake my head, surprised by the image.
I grab my nightie from the hook on the door. A sheer pink thing I got for myself not long after Danny left. It looks like something Mary Tyler Moore would have put on for Dick Van Dyke. It mersin escort bayan shows off my breasts and nipples, flaring and coming down just below my ass, it makes me feel prettier than Danny ever did.
I looked at my bedroom with pride. Besides the massive Shakespeare In The Park poster covering one wall – “Wherefore Rejoice? O You Hard Hearts, You Cruel Men Of Rome,” it reads, massive fist raised defiantly – the shelves full of books were my only real decoration. The queen sized bed, my only luxury.
Everyone – my family, my friends at school, Danny – had expected me to move back home when I graduated. Instead I’d started my own studio, then got the job with the Times and moved to New York. I asked Danny to join me. He’d lasted three months before moving back home seven months ago.
Laying in the dark, listening to the roar of a garbage truck endlessly loading and compacting industrial trash from one of the nearby buildings, I forced myself to check my mother’s voicemail.
“I’m just wondering how your date went. Please call when you get home, I don’t mind if it’s late. I love you Sarah Beth.”
“Hi mom.”
“Sarah Beth!” She sounded drowsy. “Did you have a nice night? Was he a gentleman?”
“Perfect,” I tell her, imagining Claire’s nipples, her wry smile, her lips.
“I had a really nice time,” I lied.
“Oh good,” she said. “Not too good a time I hope.”
“Mom…”
“I was single once, Sarah Beth, I remember.”
“It was just dinner, nothing happened.”
“Have you called Father Mike at St Joseph’s?”
‘Forgive me father for I have sinned…’ I think despite myself.
“Mom, it’s late, I’m going to bed.”
“I was just asking.”
“I know mom, good night.”
“Good night Sarah Beth, I love you.”
“I love you too mom.”
Laying in the dark, I watch lights from passing trucks and cabs crawl across my ceiling. I pictured Claire’s nipples.
I didn’t get a look at her date, but I found myself imagining she had taken him home. I picture her undressing in front of him, until she is entirely naked, long lithe form, smooth tan skin. Her shadowy date is still fully dressed in his suit pants and dress shirt. She reclines on a large white sofa, her arms spread like wings across its back, tits pointing at the ceiling. The shiny black toes of his shoes pushing into the carpet as he kneels between her spread legs.
I push my hand into my panties as I imagine him eating her shaved pussy. His lips wet sliding over hers, his tongue licking her hairless cunt. I imagine her watching him labor and smiling, amused at his subservience, but then losing herself in pleasure; her eyes hooded.
His head is moving fast as his tongue pushes into her. She moans in ecstasy, such a delightful sound. I imagine the smooth feel of her skin against my tongue, the tangy taste as she bucks her hips against my face, her fingers in my hair…
I’m breathing hard as I stop touching myself, wiping my fingers on my bare belly. Frustrated and shocked with myself, I push my nightie back down and stare at the lights from the street. A truck makes a great crashing metal noise as it speeds over a pothole. It’s a long time before I get to sleep.
It was two or three weeks later that I ran into Claire again. This time on a Saturday morning in a little cafe Downtown. I think I’d chosen a daytime meet up because something about the date I was meeting didn’t jibe. To my horror he turned out to be ten or fifteen years older than the pictures he posted on the app – making him at least twenty years my senior, but he could have been older than that. Adding insult to injury, he had a schoolmarm’s manner and charm to boot.
Still, a measure of my desperation, I didn’t turn on my heel when I saw him and was willing to go through with the pantomime of a first date, until the moment he expressed how mortified he was by my choice of a caramel macchiato.
“It’s not a real coffee,” he explained as I sat down
I feign interest as he continues, but I knew the date was over.
“Processing beans…” my mind drifts. I’m thinking about the coming week, chores I should take care of and errands I need to run over the weekend.
“Fuller flavour…” he pontificates. I wonder if I can still find a date for tomorrow night, someone to go see a show with.
“Nowhere to hide…” he tells me.
‘I’ve entirely lost the thread, he’s onto something else,’ I realize with some relief.
“Single origin long black…”
‘Aaaaand we’re back… I wonder why he’s still single?’ I think to myself, absent-mindedly, smirking as I stir the syrup in my cup.
“Bria- Bill? Bill, sorry – I’ll be right back?” I say, excusing myself as I stand and turn. I just need to get away, to breathe some air Bill hasn’t already sucked the oxygen out of. I don’t see the cup coming towards me. It explodes against mine.
“Fuck! I can’t believe…” she cries out.
My shirt is soaked. Looking up in disbelief. She’s looking at me; shock and horror.
“Sarah?”
“Claire?!”
Her laughter echoes my embarrassment. Bill looks shocked and escort mersin decidedly unamused. Smiling, Claire is pulling me into the bathroom. We’re giggling like school girls.
“We should stop meeting like this,” I tease.
“Seriously, one of us is going to get hurt.”
Claire is dabbing this time, nervously. She asks what I do.
“Infographics.”
I look at her blank face. I’m used to that. I picture my parents’ blank stares; Danny’s… Claire meanwhile gives me a hard look, pressing me to explain, she has these amazing hazel eyes.
“Graphs, charts, maps – but with shit-tons of data… information visualization… I work for the Times.” Looking at me in awe, her hand resting on my breast. I’m… not used to that.
“That’s awesome!” She means it. She’s pressing my breasts with the paper towels, and I realize I’ve gone strangely passive. It’s just a t-shirt, I should tell her not to bother. Instead I’m allowing her to touch me.
I picture her again on the white sofa, arms outstretched, legs spread; heart pounding, nerves rising, I feel myself color and watch in horror as my nipples harden and rise against my wet shirt.
“My date sucks,” I admit, trying to distract myself.
“The old guy?!” real disbelief. “I thought he was your boss… or…”
“My dad? His fucking profile picture must be from the 90s,” I tell her, blushing.
“I totally thought he was your dad!”
I can feel the tears. I tip my face back, opening my eyes wide, hoping they will subside – like tide water.
Claire looks up, suddenly mortified. “Oh, shit I’m so sorry, I just… I meant it in a good way?” she jokes, but then more quietly, but so full of real concern, she tells me. “Sarah, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“No, it’s not- it’s just that it wasn’t supposed to be this way. Seven months ago I was engaged,” I admit.
I pictured Danny after I gave him back the ring. Remember watching him pack in anger, cramming his things in trash bags. “You love this city more than me,” he’d said before slamming the door.
“And now I’m being lectured by an old man about fucking coffee and this isn’t even the third worst date I’ve had this month.”
“Hey, hey,” she’s touching the corner of my eye with a paper towel, it’s cool and damp. Catching my tear before it can fall. “Don’t let the bastards get you down,” she whispers.
I lower my chin, and look at her, she dabs the other eye. She’s smiling, it’s a tentative, inviting smile. She’s standing so close.
“It could be worse,” she says, her breath is sweet. “He could be a tech bro.”
I laugh. “Uhg! That would be awful!”
“That’s what I’m working with today.”
More laughter. She gives me her card, tells me to come by the gallery, that she’ll show me the work.
When we re-emerge my date is gone, hers looks angry. He’s got bland, midwestern good looks, khakis and an oxford with a fleece vest and corporate logo.
“Is he attending a work conference nearby?” I ask.
“Uhg I know,” she says.
I laugh at this, “Maybe he’s going to put in an expenses claim for lunch too!”
A cynical look taking over her expression. “But that’s not such a bad idea. Maybe I can sell him a painting.”
I snort.
“You think I’m joking?” Claire asks, raising her eyebrows. “Sometimes you flirt to sell art, sometimes you sell art to flirt… this would definitely be the former.”
I give her hand a squeeze and we part ways.
After leaving the coffee shop I stop to do a little grocery shopping before making my way home by bus, enjoying the above ground trip and the clear fall day. As I watched the city passing by I was thinking about my dates, wondering if I was being too picky. I thought about the chances of running into Claire again; how much fun we had.
I almost called her when I got home, I’d wanted to ask her to go to a show, but looking at the card again all I had was her work number. I put away my groceries, started my laundry, and called my mother instead.
“Your father spoke to Danny today,” she tells me. I can hear my father talking in the background, telling her things to say. God forbid he should ever call me.
“Mom please don’t-” I beg.
“He hasn’t found anyone new. It sounds like he’s working very hard, he’s even been travelling a bit for work, but he hardly ever goes out.”
“Mom I’ve told you-“
“I know, I know. You’re ‘where you need to be’. I also know you’re not going to mass.” I hear my father say something about confession, and brace. “Your father thinks you should stop by St Patrick’s, it’s not far from where you work. If nothing else it’s beautiful, and you could give your confession…”
“Mom!”
“We just don’t like to think of you being alone. Jobs aren’t everything Sarah Beth!”
“MOM! Seriously, stop!”
I finish my night wrapped in a robe with a quart of blackberry chocolate chip and Two Girls And A Guy on my laptop. It’s brainless, which fits my mood. But I only get as far as Robert Downey Jr eating out Heather Graham from behind. Part of it is how much Claire and Heather Graham look alike. The same willowy tall figure and blonde mane, but also the same big eyes. Seeing him push her against the wall, her hands outstretched as he buried his face in her ass, is somehow too much. I put the movie down and turned off the light.