...Tyler caught his reflection in the mirror at the back. He shifted the bouquet from his right hand to his left, and with his right hand, he made unaccustomed primping gestures at his new ‘do – the result of the first of the three ports he’d called into on his late afternoon odyssey. He turned his face this way and that. He had a pleasant memory of the piping hot towel that the stylist had laid on his face and the incredible cooling feeling when she peeled it off and began to lather up his face. The straight razor sliced through the scruff leaving his face clean and smooth to the touch. Then, after she’d finished cutting and styling his hair, had worked wax into it and was arranging and tugging little clumps of his hair this way and that, she’d said “whoa, look at you!” and the other stylists had gathered around and made admiring sounds.
He tucked the collar tip of his new violet shirt under the lapel of the European cut olive suit, from his second stop, at Tom’s in Kensington Market.
Tom knew men bought new suits for a reason – a new job, a promotion, a woman – and his decades of offering personal service to men like Tyler had sharpened his intuition. “You’re trying to impress a girl?”
Tyler had fidgeted and feigned great interest in the store with enough clothing on the racks to dress a battalion of men and mumbled, “Yeah, kinda.”
Tom had chuckled, put his arm around Tyler’s shoulders and taken him through the store on a slow tour, feeling this fabric and pulling out that suit to drape over Tyler until they’d come to a beautiful summer weight wool suit, single breasted, with slim, flat-front slacks that settled perfectly on Tyler’s slender frame. Tom had tossed a 100% Egyptian cotton shirt over the curtain of the dressing room – “try this on for size, Tyler” – and Tyler had looked at himself in the full-length mirror and thought he kind of looked okay.
It had been such a long time since he’d worn dress shoes, that the shiny, burgundy Cole Haan lace-ups felt stiff but pleasingly sturdy as he walked up and down, testing the fit.
As he stood at the counter to pay, wearing the new outfit and carrying the clothes he’d walked in with in a bag, Tom had come up beside him and thrust a silk handkerchief, which perfectly matched the violet shirt, into the front breast pocket of the suit and with a practiced flourish arranged it in a jaunty pouf. Then he’d stood back admiringly.
“Young man, she doesn’t stand a chance.”
Tyler had looked down at himself and at an outstretched arm. “I look alright don’t I?”
“Alright? You look like a million bucks. By the way, we can make change for a million-dollar bill,” Tom had laughed.
Tyler’s brow had knit. “What about a tie?”
Tom had cocked his head. “I’ve got a thousand ties that would look great with that suit. But, a man your age, today, you look just right with an open collar.”
He had stepped up to Tyler and made a small adjustment to the shirt collar and suit lapel. “Like I said, she doesn’t stand a chance.”
His last stop was the variety store a few blocks from home. They had a plastic barrel with bunches of flowers that looked pretty good and were $9.99. He plucked two of them – he wasn’t going to cheap out -- and the Korean lady smiled and winked knowingly at him as she merged them into one bouquet and re-wrapped them in cellophane. This whole ‘how to please women’ shit isn’t that hard after all, he had thought.
But now he was on the elevator, moments from home, and staring in the mirror on the back wall at what now looked like a caricature of himself. He felt like a foolish little boy, with a handful of dandelions, trying to impress the girl next door. Who was he kidding? Michelle would take one look at him and laugh at his pathetic sorry ass attempt to be suave and romantic.
The elevator jerked to a stop and the doors opened behind him as he spun around frantically trying to face front – and not quite making it – as a cute east Indian girl stepped in.
“Going up?” She asked, pointing her finger up.
“Yeah,” Tyler said feeling silly and self-conscious.
“Wow, are those for me?” the pretty Indian girl asked, pointing at the – double–bouquet.
Nonplussed and stammering, Tyler said, “no, they’re for – well, you can have them if you want them…”
She laughed. “You’re cute. Candy’s dandy; flowers will wow ‘er – but liquor’s quicker.” She winked at him as the doors opened and she stepped out.
He watched the doors close as she turned down the hall and was gone. Bewitched and baffled he had a random memory of junior high school when he’d derived the calculus from first principles in the summer before entering grade 8.
Why are women so, so – he couldn’t even frame the question.
Sitting on the couch in her sweats, Michelle looked up from her laptop when she heard keys fumbling at the lock of the apartment door.
Tyler. It sometimes took him two or three keys before he found the right one and got it in the right way. She smiled and shook her head. So smart and such a dufus.
The door swung open and Tyler stepped through, giving her a little start. He was holding a plastic bag in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other; the wild Medusa hair had been tamed and styled; he was clean shaven; he stood in gorgeous burgundy shoes and wore a beautiful olive suit and violet shirt and a weak, tremulous little smile subverting his exaggerated nonchalance. He stood still on the threshold of their home: a tableau of beautifully groomed vulnerability.
Her impulse was to burst out laughing – not to ridicule, not because he didn’t look good, he looked awesome – but because it was so completely unexpected, and he had gone so far out of his comfort zone to win her and he was trying so hard to pull it off, and he looked so sweet doing it.
As she mastered the impulse to laugh it was immediately replaced with the impulse to cry. She was so, so touched by the effort he’d made and seeing him stand there like a lost little boy put a lump in her throat and gave her heart a little squeeze. She knew instinctively that the right reaction was almost no reaction at all.
She swallowed hard and casually asked, “Is that a new suit?”
He looked at his sleeve, with an unintended comical look of surprise, as though seeing it for the first time. “Oh yeah, I picked it up today.”
She stood. “Did you style your hair differently today?”
He eyes actually looked up as if to see his hair. “Yeah, I had a haircut, it kinda needed it.”
She decided not to comment on the shave but walked up to him and ran her fingertips approvingly on his smooth cheek and watched him smile bashfully. She looked down at the flowers. “Any chance those beautiful flowers are for me.”
Another look of apparent surprise. “These? Well, I thought you might like them.”
As she took them from him she could see the green convenience store hand written price sticker which somehow made the gesture sweeter than if he’d gone to an expensive florist. She brought them to her nose.
“Mmmm, they smell wonderful.” The scent was barely detectable.
She placed her free hand around his neck, stood on her toes and kissed him: more than a smack; less than an obvious invitation to passion. As she languidly drew her lips from his, she lightly bit his lower lip, and stepped back; a gesture like an ellipsis: a promise of what may come...
“Thank you, Tyler, it was very sweet of you.” She stepped away. “I’ll put these in water.”
She reached for the plastic bag which would be the clothes he had worn to the store. “And, I’ll put these in the laundry hamper.”
She walked toward the kitchen, then paused and looked back at him. He was still standing at the door.
“You look absolutely mint.”
His sheepish little smile broadened into a huge grin.
He watched her disappear into the kitchen and heard her run the water and rummage in the cupboard for something to put the flowers in.
With an immense feeling of relief and gratification he crossed over to the couch and sat. He felt the lapel of his suit jacket between his thumb and fingers and savoured the rich fabric and his total score.
That Steve guy, he thought, he’s alright.
He looked around trying to decide whether to watch TV or fire up his Xbox and decided on TV. He had binge watched the first season of Star Trek – the original, actual Star Trek – on Netflix with two glorious seasons to go, and he settled back anticipating the blinking lights of the bridge and the Paper Mache boulders Captain Kirk would dodge that pissed off aliens threw at him on bold new worlds. Did it get any better than this?
He heard barefoot footsteps and looked up as Michelle appeared at the entrance to the hall that lead to the small kitchenette and beyond that to the bedroom. She wore a black see-through thing with thin straps on her shoulders that came to just above her belly button, and matching black, skimpy undies.
Instachubb.
He became acutely aware in his pants of what Tom had meant by “slim silhouette”.
Michelle pretended to yawn. “I’m going to take a little nap.”
“Oh, sure, okay hon.” He picked up the remote. “I’ll keep the volume down.”
She remained where she was, looking at him with an inscrutable little smile and an arched eyebrow.
His brows knit.
Comprehension jolted him upright and he fumbled the remote which went spinning off, the battery cover and batteries scattering about the floor.
Satisfied that her meaning was now probably clear, Michelle gave him a hooded eye look, turned and walked slower than necessary, down the hall to their bedroom, the lazy roll of her butt cheeks having the intended hypnotic effect on Tyler.
Tyler stood and shook his head to clear it. She wants me to follow her right? he asked himself. He slipped his jacket off and dropped it on the couch – then turned, picked it up and carefully folded it as he laid it back on the couch, then walked swiftly and unsteadily to the hallway.
The light from the hall in the darkened bedroom fell on Michelle’s form lying in the bed, her back to him, the bed sheet rumpled over her thigh in apparent disarray. Tyler’s gaze followed from the edge of the sheet along her thigh, rising to her hip, lingering on the roundness of her butt cheeks in a triumph of display over the tiny black thong’s sham of modesty, to the dip of her waist and the rise of her back and shoulder and the cascade of her blonde hair.
He stood in awe of her, and of himself. How on earth did I ever bring this beautiful creature to my bed?
He watched her shoulder rise and fall as she breathed deeply. He became uncertain whether she’d fallen asleep.
Hesitant, he wondered, when she said ‘nap’, did she mean a nap nap?
He whispered, “Hon, are you sleeping?”
“Mmmm,” she answered.
Did that mean “yes” or “no”?
She rolled over and smiled at him, patting the empty space beside her. “Come to bed.”
He swallowed. I guess that means ‘no’.
In a bumbled activity of slipping off his shoes, pulling his shirt out of his waistband, peeling off socks, unbelting and unzipping his new trousers (neglecting to fold them as they dropped to the floor), he slid naked into the bed beside and behind Michelle, reaching his arm around to her belly and pulling her tight to him, his rock-hard cock seeking her between her thighs from behind. He moved his hand from the flat of her belly to her breast, squeezing and kneading, gently pulling and pinching her nipple, as he kissed and ran his tongue along the curve of her neck.
Michelle half closed her eyes and smiled lazily as the tingling from three different places seemed to unite in a delightful shiver of pleasure. It could be a challenge to get Tyler pointed in the right direction, but once he was, he could take it from there. She felt the blunt probing of his penis and helped it find its way with her hand, guiding its length just within and along her vulva, the slow back and forth motion along her lips readying her and moistening them both. She wanted to kiss him and turned over to face him, running her fingers through his hair and pulling his mouth to hers.
In his mounting euphoria, Tyler became aware again of the joy he’d felt when he heard, in disbelief, that he was being assigned to the Athena team; that he, Tyler, had something important to contribute, and he wanted badly to tell her, to share and to make her proud of him. He would wait until later – but he couldn’t wait. He pulled back and raised himself on his elbow. In the semi-darkness, he could see the quizzical look on Michelle’s face.
“Babe?”
“I have something to tell you,” he said.
She had a pretty good idea what it was and prepared to appear surprised.
“Tell me.”
His hand lay on her breast. His smile was diffident. He was reluctant to begin.
She smiled at him encouragingly.
“You’re not going to believe this – I can barely believe it myself.”
“I will. Tyler, tell me.”
He smiled and shook his head as though still not sure if it were true. “I met with Steve today, Steve McGregor.”
She nodded to draw it out of him.
“Well…he assigned me to the Athena team.”
She gasped. “Shut up!” Her surprise was feigned; her joy in his success was completely sincere.
“I know right? Can you believe it?”
“Oh my god, Tyler! Yes, of course I can believe it. The Athena project needs our best people – and that’s you!”
He basked in this wonderful moment, maybe the best moment of the best day of his life.
“You’ll never guess in a million years why.” She knew, of course.
“Because you’re brilliant and handsome and a devastating lover?”
“Oh, um, maybe that too. But, it was my simulator, you know that stupid thing I’ve been working on that didn’t really have any use? I was thinking maybe it could be a module in a video game? Well, Steve figured out that it could be used to speed up the use case and quality assurance testing for Athena. And it might even help us to launch on schedule.”
“Oh, Tyler. I am so, so proud of you.”
He now had a huge grin on his face.
“Hey, Ty, that means we’re going to be working together, how great is that?”
His grin dimmed a little. “Are you sure you can stand having me around all the time?”
She slipped her hand around the back of his neck. “C’m’ere, you.”
She rolled onto her back and pulled him down on top of her, opening her legs so he could settle between them, and kissed him with intensifying urgency. She moaned as Tyler made the tip of his penis press against her clitoris, teasing it by making slow, random, circle and stroking motions.
He fondled then moved his mouth to her breast, kissing it and licking and sucking her nipple, making it wet and feeling it fill out under his tongue, as she stroked his head and clutched his hair. Having slid part way down her body, his penis no longer contacted her clitoris and she felt a swelling need to have it pressed and a growing need to have him inside her. She reached down between them and rubbed her clitoris with her fingers and then pressed it like a button with the tip of her finger, feeling a surge of rapture and relief. Her vagina was empty and aching to be filled and she reached for his penis and pulled it up, fitting the head then shuddering as he plunged into her, his mouth hungrily finding hers, his hand gripping her breast.
She could feel his body growing tense, his muscles tightening, and she wanted to slow down, to tease him a little, and arouse his impatience.
She placed her hands on his hips and pushed him out of her, and then pushed his right hip a little more so that he rolled over on to his back as she nimbly got to her knees and took his penis in her hand. She made and kept eye contact with him as she leaned down and ran her tongue along it from its base to its head. She slowly ran her tongue around the head, tasting herself, then again and heard him give a little moan. Pausing for just a moment, she took the head into her mouth and watched him writhe. She made an ‘O’ with her thumb and forefinger and as she slowly oscillated her mouth up and down the head of his penis she drew the ‘O’ following her mouth on the upstroke, just barely touching the part she knew was incredibly sensitive on the underside edge of the head and looked into his eyes – now closed in ecstasy – continuing a few more strokes, then closing her lips on the shaft and running them all the way down to the base, holding her breath, squelching her gag reflex and partially swallowing the head of his penis. She felt his fingers tightly clutching her hair, the pain of it being pulled a trifle compared to the excruciating bliss she was giving him. With her tongue and the back of her throat she stroked the head of his penis, back and forth, back and forth. From his moaning and the force of his fingers in her hair, she knew he was nearing a climax. She wet a finger in her vagina for lubrication then slipped the finger in his ass and pressed his prostate gland. She drew her lips back to the head of his penis and with lips, tongue, mouth, and ‘O’ she settled into a rhythmic stroke, up and down, up and down, up and down, and felt first the small drop and then the explosion of warm, salty, slightly slimy, vaguely metallic come, squeezing the shaft and moving her hand up to just reach the head as the ejaculation ebbed and drained the last of its fluid into her mouth. She removed her mouth and swallowed and swallowed again. Then, she kissed his penis and settled into the nest made by the crook of his arm and snuggled her body against him as he drew her close. Her head on his chest rose and fell with his long, deep easy breathing. She felt the itch of unsatisfied need, and contentment with the certain knowledge that in ten minutes he’d be hard again.
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