© 2002 Couture
I watched the two girls in the mirror at the bar. They were both very pretty. The dark-haired woman was little more mature and judging by her eyes, a bit more jaded. The other was blonde, young, and laughed a lot. She looked like the sort of girl Playboy tried to get to pose as a centerfold: young, innocent, boxum - the girl next door. I wanted her the minute I laid eyes on her. The blonde one that is.
When she got up to go to the restroom and I made my move. Heh-heh, wolves are always more aggressive when the prey is alone.
"Hi, can I buy you a drink?"
I sat down next to brunette. "My name is Steve." I extended my hand and she shook it. A nice firm handshake.
"I'm Georgia... like the state."
Even though I only came over to talk to her so that I could meet the blonde when she came back, I immediately liked her... "You are very pretty, Georgia-like-the-state."
She laughed and put her hand on my arm. Yes, a good start indeed.
"Thank you. So, what do you do, Steve?"
"I work for a internet company. I do programming." Shit, the hand on my arm was gone. She must think I'm either boring as hell or two-steps from a layoff. I don't know why I wanted to impress her. It wasn't her I was after, but I found myself saying, "I also write," before I knew it was out of my mouth.
She gave me a look that said she didn't believe me. "What do you write? Programs? Manuals?"
"No, actually I write fiction. Erm... Erotic stories."
"You're fuckin' with me." But the hand was back, this time on my thigh.
"I'd like to be... fucking with you that is," I said. "They are on the internet if you ever want to take a look."
"So, what are they about?" She was eager, whispering to me, like we were young kids.
"Some are about really way out kinky things from my fantasies which I hope to keep there, but others are about different women I've hooked up with and some of the things we've done."
She paused as if letting this sink in. "Would you write a story about me? For me. Georgia's Story." Her hand moved higher. It was almost touching my cock now. So close, I could feel the warmth from her fingers. She had obviously done this before. "I think I would like that."
"Why do you write?" she asked. "I like the thought of people reading about me and getting off. Besides, I'm too old for to pose for Playboy."
"I would buy that issue."
"Sure you would," she said, meaning I would say anything to get in her panties. "But, would you write my story."
"Sure, I could write it, but you have to understand. In order for people to want to read it, and I mean lots of people, it would have to be different. Nobody wants to read about a guy and a girl meeting at a bar and going home for a quick fuck. And we haven't known each other long enough to write a piece where we poke fun at one another and do cutesy relationship things, before having a boring but lovable fuck."
"I could let you poke me in the rear, if you promise not to be an asshole about it. I bet people would like to read about that."
"Have you ever done that before?" I said.
"A few times." She said, not batting an eye. Her hand was resting on my cock now. I'm not sure if was from her moving her hand up, or from the extra length I added while talking to her.
"Well, people like to read about people doing things they don't ordinarily do, you know." I thought for a second. "Have you ever done it in a public place?"
"When I was younger. I couldn't do it here though. Someone might recognize me from work."
We both tried to think of something fresh and different. She shook her head and began to laugh. "This is too damn funny. Two jaded people trying to come up with a new way to have a fuck, so I can be in a story."
I laughed too and nudged her playfully in the ribs. "Oh no, we've got fuckers block."
We laughed some more and then she dried her tears with a cocktail napkin that had previously guarded the table against the condensation from her glass. By the time we stopped, the blonde that was sitting next to her returned.
Georgia gave my leg a squeeze and whispered, "I've got an idea. Just play along, okay?" Turning to the blonde: "Hey Stacy, look who the cat drug in. I'd like you to meet my brother Steve." To me: "Steve, I'd like you to meet my new friend Stacy. Well, we just met really, but friends are friends." To Stacy: "Right Stacy?"
"Sure," she said. "It was ah-Georgia wasn't it?"
"You got it." To me: "Stacy just moved to town this week and doesn't know anyone yet. Now, she already has two friends."
"It's a pleasure to meet you Stacy." I shook her hand. Not firm, but she had an honest smile.
Stacy said, "It's nice to meet you too."
Georgia stood up, put her arm around Stacy's middle and said, "Stacy, why don't you sit next to Steve. Do you mind?" While the two switched seats, Georgia continued, "Lordy, I feel like little Miss Matchmaker. Steve's wife left him about four months ago, and I finally got him to come to visit me. He needs to lighten up and have a little fun, maybe meet some new people. And since you don't know anyone in town, what better person to meet?"
As a writer, I have a special appreciation for words. Most of the time it is for the written word, but after listening to Georgia, I realized I was in the presence of a master. She had all three of us, perfect strangers really, carrying on as if we had known each other all our lives, and soon we were all drunk from the tequila shots she ordered. Not only that, she had maneuvered it so that I was supposedly divorced, due to being so uptight (this couldn't be further from the truth), and we were brother and sister.
Now, clearly, Georgia was in control and since I was potentially destined to get laid by more than one woman, I wasn't going to complain. But even if by chance I came to like Stacy, I would never be able to have a relationship with her, unless of course Georgia was involved too. Like I said, she was a master, and I wasn't surprised one bit when she asked if Stacy wanted to go back to her apartment for a joint.
"But Stevie's probably afraid," Georgia said. "Aren't you Stevie?"
Now, don't get me wrong, I don't buy marijuana, not since college, but I've never turned it down before either. Still playing the part of Georgia's uptight brother, I replied, "Well, I don't know sis. How long does that stuff stay in your system?"
"Hah, you are afraid. I bet Stacy's not afraid. Are you Stacy?"
Stacy hesitated. It was obvious she was indeed afraid, either of smoking a jay or going back to Georgia's apartment. Georgia patted Stacy's arm and the young blonde reluctantly agreed. "I'm not afraid."
"Good girl." Georgia cheered, and the two gave one another a high five. To me: "Still afraid?"
"No, I'll do it."
"Ha-hah, damn there might just be some hope for you yet Stevie. Pay the tab, while we ladies go freshen up a bit." The two walked to the bathroom, with Stacey staggering alongside of Georgia who glided next to her.
I paid the tab and smiled to myself, shaking my head in disbelief at Georgia's manipulations. I kept an eye peeled toward the bathroom, making sure that Georgia's manipulations didn't include getting stuck with such a high bill without the fringe benefits, so to speak. She was good, I had to give her that. Not only was she going to be in a story, but she would be the main character. I wondered if she realized that already. Probably so.
When the two gorgeous women returned, they both grinned knowingly. Obviously they talked about me while they were alone, and I found about what as we left, with both girls flanking me and each cheek of my ass covered by a groping hand.
"Is my little bro embarrassed?"
Not at all. As a matter of fact, I struggled not to grab their asses in turn, but it wouldn't be in character, that's for sure.
"I can't believe you did that sis! Did you see everyone staring at me?" I accused her jokingly, causing Stacy to giggle uncontrollably.
We caught a cab and went over to Georgia's place. It was a nice roomy apartment. Very modern, if a little sparce.
"Have a seat. I'll be right back," Georgia said.
She left, and I was alone with Stacy for the first time.
"Your sister's a handful, isn't she?" Stacy whispered.
"Yeah, when you're with her you feel like you're on a trip to an exotic location," I said honestly. "You don't know where you're going; you just hold on tight and see where you end up."
We laughed and grew quiet, as Georgia picked that moment to show back up bearing a small Tupperware container. She looked from one of us to the other and said in a stoner voice, "Like wow, man, like I haven't even started yet, and I already feel like everyone is talking about me."
We laughed again, and Georgia sat down, emptying the contents of the container on the coffee table. She picked the seeds out of the pot, and then packed the leaves into the husk of a cigar. She lit it, took a drag, held it and let it go. Then she passed it over to me. "You chicken, little brother?"
Being a casual smoker, I'm not a big fan of blunts, though I've never turned one down either. They always make me choke, which I guess was a good thing, since I needed to pretend I'd never smoked pot.
I took a drag, letting it burn my lungs. It was good shit.
"So, Stacy, did Stevie tell you why his wife left him?"
I choked, not sure if it was from the blunt as much as Georgia's comments. I wondered where she was going with this.
.... There is more of this story ...