Michael Hemmingson - Seven Women - An Erotic Private Investigation

“I want you,” she murmurs, her warm breath to my face. I pull at her panties under her bunched-up skirt, feel her round and fleshy ass. I fall back on the toilet stall as Sheila takes my cock out. My hand briefly brushes across her sex and I feel its heat and wetness and from the light smell that reaches my nostrils I know she is more than ready. She sits on me, slides me into her, her red hair falling over my face. I realize I could be with anyone, that I am with a woman I don’t even know, and we’re having unsafe sex, and neither of us care, but I close my eyes, I block out the smell of the men’s room and the sound of music in the club, and she could be any of the lovers I have had in my past. She could be Tasha, she could be Veronica.

I remember the look on Tasha’s face as she watched me make love to Veronica. It was not a look of lust, or shock, but numb indifference, as if what she was seeing wasn’t really there. She was lying on the bed next to us, and when I was done, Veronica was not; she wanted Tasha, so she kissed her, and Tasha just lay back on the bed, the same stoned look in her eyes, as Veronica made love to her with her mouth.

I remember the excitement of it, the pleasure at seeing the popular male fantasy come true, of being in bed with two women, and how I ignored the fact that while Tasha seemed to like the idea at first, that when it really began to happen she became distant, yet did not say anything to stop it from going further. Thinking of this makes me fuck Sheila harder, thrusting up as she thrusts down, so that our flesh smacks together loudly, my hands digging into her hips. I am filled with both lust and anger; the lust of memory and the moment, the anger of mistakes and the stupidity, including the stupidity of fucking my ex-wife’s friend in a public toilet. It doesn’t matter now.

I open her blazer, hands across her silk blouse, feel the lace bra underneath. I begin to unbutton her blouse, but instead move my hands to her ass, feeling the meat there, as we continue to fuck, energetically, drunkenly, slightly coked-up. How sleazy, I think, how perfect, for my life couldn’t be anything otherwise. I remember what Tasha said to me after that night: “How would you feel if you watched another man fuck me? Or more than one man?” And I remember what I did feel: jealousy, rage, wondering if she would go out and have sex with someone just to “get back” at me — as she did, eventually, with Slater.

Sheila is coming; she puts a hand to her mouth but that doesn’t muffle the sound too well, and I start to fuck her harder, and soon I reach my own orgasm, and we slow down, catch our breaths. She moves away from me, almost timidly, brushing the red hair from her face. She pulls her panties up first, then buttons her blouse and blazer, and straightens her skirt. I zip up my pants and stand. “Well,” she says softly, kissing me lightly on the lips. “We better get out of here. Discreetly, if possible.”

It won’t be possible. We leave the stall trying to look nonchalant, which is dumb. There are three men at urinals, and one in the stall next to where we were, and another coming in just as we go out. We quickly leave the men’s room and return to the lights and music.

“Hey,” Amelia says with a smile.

I don’t think they notice the truth.

Sheila and I return to the table. Lisa is gone, to the bathroom we’re told. I want to laugh, wondering if she went in there with some man; I try to picture this. As far as the others seem to know, Sheila and I were out on the floor all this time. I see that the number of people in here has increased. In retrospect, my liaison with Sheila was quite brief. Memory and alcohol, and other things, can fool you.

Sheila and I are good at pretending there is nothing between us but a dance. A dance, yes.

“This place is too noisy,” Tasha says. She leans close to me to say this. I flinch, afraid she might smell the sex on me — I can still smell it. But what do I care? We’re not married anymore, we’ll never get back together. It is at this moment that I know I still love her. This makes me sad — something I’d rather not feel. I finish my drink. Tasha adds, “We were thinking of leaving, what do you think?”

“This is girls’ night out,” I note. “Do I have any say?”

“Well, you seem to be part of the entourage now.”

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

Lisa returns and we discuss it. We decide to leave the club.

“Why don’t we go to my place,” Holly suggests.

“I’ve never been there,” Amelia says.

“It’s big and roomy and quiet,” Holly says. “Also, my bar doesn’t charge high prices.”

“Speaking of high prices,” Cara says, “I’m running low on cash — how much is a cab to your place?”

“Not a lot,” Holly says, “but we can all try to cram into a single cab. What do you think?”

“All of us,” Lisa says, “into one? I don’t think so.”

“I’ve done it before,” Amelia says. “It takes coordination.”

“And you have to find one of those older, larger cabs,” Sheila says.

“Well, heck, it sounds like fun,” Cara says.

I see my ex-wife make a face.

“It’s always worth a try,” I tell her.

“This is fun,” says Amelia.

Somehow, we manage it. Cara and Lisa are in front with the driver; Tasha, Sheila, Amelia, Holly and I are squished into the back. It isn’t so bad. I like the concentrated smell of their bodies, perfume, and what they’ve been drinking.

“I didn’t finish my story,” Amelia says.

“What story was that?” Cara asks from the front.

“When I was with Tasha and Sheila and Leonard,” Amelia says. “I was telling them how I met my alien lover.”

“A foreigner?” Holly says.

“No,” Amelia says, “an alien from another planet. I know you probably don’t believe me, but this is all so very true. Look, where was I before we got to the club?” She looks at me. I shrug.

“Er,” Sheila says, “you said you were driving and then you woke up and you were inside a UFO.”

“Well, I was,” Amelia nods. “It was big and kind of plain and had round windows. And then The Astronaut came up to me and said, ‘Hi.’”

Sheila rolls her eyes.

“I wasn’t scared! I was…intrigued. I thought it was some wild dream or something. The Astronaut told me not to be afraid and I told him I wasn’t and asked him where I was and he said, ‘You’re on my ship.’”

“What was his name?” Holly asks.

“The Astronaut,” Amelia says, “just that, that’s what he called himself, he said, ‘Hello, I am The Astronaut,’ and then he took off his helmet. I didn’t know what to expect! I figured he would probably have two heads or weird skin or look like a fish or something, but lo! to my surprise what did I see? He was handsome! He looked just like a human, and he was this man with dark hair and — and you know what’s weird, Leonard? He kind of looked like you.”

“Well,” I say.

“Not exactly like you, but something like you. Anyway, that’s not the whole of the story, that’s just the preamble. I have to get to the important stuff, like when I had sex with him.”

“Sex,” Sheila says. She gives me a quick glance that I think Tasha catches.

“Yes. Not at first, not just like that. You see — it was all real hazy, like some crazy dream. I dunno. I felt — seduced. He said, ‘I want to show you something,’ and he took my hand and we went to one of those round windows and we were looking down at the Earth, and I could see the moon, and I could see the stars, and I thought, Oh, wow, is this all real?

He said to me, ‘Yes, it is very real, Amelia,’ and I said, ‘Hey, you can read my thoughts,’ and he said, ‘Yes, I can.’ He said, ‘I have come here just for you, Amelia, because you are the one, you have been chosen.’ ‘Chosen for what?’ I asked. ‘Chosen,’ he said, and it all seemed so right. He showed me the solar system. It was awesome, to tell you the truth. We were going pretty fast, at the speed of light, I guess, because we passed by Mars and then Jupiter and then Saturn with all its rings and moons and I could see those planets so close from that window, like I could touch them, you know.” She laughs. “It was like a high.”