Jody Gehrman - Bombshell

The redhead shakes back her hair and arches her back, leaning over, pressing her ass against him. He lifts up her dress and in a moment he’s inside her, making no attempt to hide his thrusting hips as he grips her even tighter. She opens her mouth. I can just make out her moan of pleasure. Without thinking, my hand snakes down into my panties. I’m so wet. My fingers slide easily in and out of my pussy. When I finally touch my clit it’s so swollen and ready, just a few strokes makes me come. I call out, surprised at the sound I make; it starts as a low animal growl and quickly turns into a keening yelp of surprise.

The woman on the balcony throws back her head with a grimace of pleasure. The man yanks at her hair and thrusts deep into her one last time.

Behind me, Nero meows, pulling me from my trance. The man takes his date by the hand and leads her back inside. They close the French doors behind them. Just like that, it’s over. I let out a breathy sigh, my emotions pinging between pleasure and mortification.

I yank the curtains closed and turn to face my cat, who is once again ensconced in the middle of my bed, gnawing on my silk throw pillow. He gives me a superior, all-knowing look that actually makes me blush. My legs feel a little shaky; I slip off my pumps before stumbling across the room toward bed.

“Shut up,” I warn Nero as I peel off the vampy lingerie and pull my pj’s back on. “And don’t look at me like that. There’s nothing wrong with getting to know your neighbors.”

Chapter Four

Fantasy Man

Sunday morning I walk the seven blocks from my North Beach apartment to my favorite café. Brunch at Café Bovolo is a weekly ritual Wanda and I started over four years ago when I moved to San Francisco. She’s lived in the city longer than me. She dropped out of UC Santa Cruz spring semester our freshman year and never went back. Her parents bought her this awesome place in the Marina District, the lucky wench. I came here fresh out of college and moved in with Wanda for a couple months before we both realized we couldn’t stand living together. She’s a slob and I’m an unrepentant neat freak; even her excellent cleaning lady couldn’t bridge the gap between us.

When I arrive, Wanda’s already there at our favorite table. She looks gorgeous as usual. She’s thrown a turquoise cashmere wrap over a sea green silk camisole; endless strands of brightly colored beads sparkle at her throat. A jaunty suede hat completes the look. I’m surprised she’s here before me. Usually she sweeps in ten minutes late, after I’ve ordered for both of us and sucked down most of my latte.

“You’re not going to believe this,” she says the second I sit down, “but I found your dream man.”

“Not before coffee,” I warn her, signaling the waiter.

She lets out a little squeal. “I’m serious! He’s so perfect you’re going to wet yourself!”

A sour-faced woman with two little kids seated at the next table flashes us a look of distaste, but Wanda doesn’t notice.

“Tell me this isn’t the ‘project’ you mentioned for your—?”

“Fantasy matchmaking! Yes! And this guy has the biggest hard-on for dark-haired voluptuous sex kittens, Ruby. He’s the man for you! At least for one night.”

I clutch my forehead. “Okay, that’s way too much perkiness this early in the morning. Can we bring it down a couple notches until I catch up on the coffee?”

The waiter mercifully comes over to take my order, and soon we’re surrounded by delicious breakfast foods as well as fortifying caffeine. Wanda can’t stop talking about this guy. In the midst of her excited babble I piece together the following:

1. He’s from out of town, visiting for a couple weeks.

2. She met him at a party in Sausalito (i.e., super swanky).

3. He’s obsessed with 1950s pinup girls.

“You know I hate blind dates,” I remind her.

She holds up one finger. “No, no, no, this isn’t a blind date.”

“It sure sounds like one.”

“It’s a fantasy date. ” When my expression doesn’t change, she presses on. “See, on a blind date you’re looking for something permanent. It’s like an audition for domestic life. You spend the first ten minutes obsessing over how his initials will look on the monogrammed towels, or how his nose will look on your baby’s face. This is totally different.”

“Because it’s just a hookup?” I ask, spearing a home fry.

“Because you already know the most important thing about each other: you share the same fantasy.” She takes a sip of cappuccino and licks the foam from her lips. “It’s the ideal setup for one night of no-strings-attached, totally uninhibited, completely fucking mind-blowing anonymous sex.”

The woman cutting up her toddler’s pancakes at the next table pauses to shoot us another scowl.

“That lady said a bad word, Mommy.” One of her rug rats, the one with jam smeared across his forehead, stares at us with wide-eyed awe.

“Yes, she did,” his mother agrees, her jaw tight.

Wanda smiles sweetly, then turns her attention back to me.

I lean toward her, lowering my voice self-consciously. “The whole thing sounds kind of sketchy. How much do even you know about him? I could end up dismembered.”

“I can’t reveal my sources,” she says. “I’m not even going to tell you his name—hence the anonymous part. But I will tell you this: he’s a perfect gentleman, well-bred with impeccable manners. Plus, he’s unspeakably hot.”

“If he’s so awesome, why would he be willing to go along with this?”

She gapes at me, indignant. “Men completely get this whole setup. It’s only women who struggle with it. Guys understand the power of isolating an encounter for maximum eroticism. Just because he’s open to a new, exciting experience doesn’t make him a sleaze.”

“Yeah. Okay. I see that.”

She stabs a strawberry with her fork and waves it at me. “Besides, you seriously need to get laid.”

“Hey!” I glance around, none too eager for the entire room to know I’m sexually deprived. “I’m fine being alone for now.”

“You are so far from fine, it’s not even funny. That little prick Derek messed with your head.”

She’s talking about Derek Ensler, this outdoor enthusiast I dated last year. Rock climbing was his religion. His idea of a romantic weekend away involved freeze-dried meals, backpacks and bouldering. Totally not me . When we broke up I burned every polar fleece item I owned. He ditched me for his personal trainer. Not the happiest chapter of my dating history.

“I’m over him,” I grumble, reluctant to rehash that mess.

“I know, but he left tangible scars. He’s almost as guilty as The Stick when it comes to damaging your self-esteem.” She chews the strawberry thoughtfully, then adds, “I think one night with a stranger who gets just how sexy you are would jump-start your confidence and kick you into high gear.”

I sigh. “Will you accept ‘I’ll think about it’?”

“No.” She laughs when she sees my pouty expression. “Okay! For now! But you’re going to say yes. I can feel it.”

I don’t have the heart to tell her right now, but there’s no way I’ll ever agree to her scheme. A blind date’s bad enough, but a blind date with a guy who expects me to fulfill his every fantasy? After outdoorsy Derek and the ego-deflating setbacks at work, I’m barely ready to inch my way into the shallow end of the dating pool. Yet here’s Wanda, urging me to do a backflip off the high dive. As much as I’d like to support her new venture, I can’t be her lab rat this time. I’ll let her cool down a little, and if it comes up again I’ll give her a firm no. For now, let her think she’s worked her magic.