I punch through well not really I did slap a lady but sometimes it's the easiest way dealing with an emptyshell. You hate that analogy, don't ya, Eggy:( There's a throng of people here but I'm at the velvet rope, only one person in front of me.
He exits the door to my left, I watch him leaving the award show and now heading in my direction. Reminds me when I waited for Uma a few years back with a red wig and merkin talk about the novelty of a tryst and it was even harder since she had a date but we just accommodated. Walking the redcarpet alone—-maybe he really is a loser—-and he passes in front of me. So I drop my cute little clutch on the otherside of the cloth barrier. I step through, one leg over, bend down, pick it up.
A security man quickly attends me: "Ma'am, I need you to step back, you can't—-"
Stooped, I punch the promvest in his upper thigh, drive my knuckles into one of those two bigbones, which one is it? All them anatomy classes I should know. And like a drunk ice skater there he goes: down. I pop up, stride onto the redcarpet and slide my bare left arm through the target's, no rings to snag. Ya know, like I'm his date. We stroll smoothly along.
"Mr. Wayne," I says, "it's a pleasure meeting you."
"And you are?" he asks.
"Darlene Rindell," I says.
You gotta understand I am in a red dress. It brings out the topography in my torso and the meat of my backside, all the while shimmering with intoxicating sequins. Not the in-thing I don't give a damn forever sequins.
"And Ms. Rindell, what do I owe this pleasure?"
I look ahead, give it a second . . . then back to him. "You owe me, of course, Mr. Wayne," I says. "I just caught you peeking at the diamond cut-out."
I show him my teeth, after which he gazes ahead. "Please," he says, reestablishing his eyes with mine. He sees me! "Call me Bruce."
I been at the beach everyday two weeks straight practicing. I put some plantjuice on me from Ivy which brings the bees to pollen. All stretched out on a sandbed, only my nipples and piegal censored, but my legs and thighs, taking in the burning sun, taking it all in! Finally yesterday the fifteenth day I put on the spray-tan I got the oil kind actually and made a night of it.
My entire leg comes forth into the open from the ankle-to-hip slit. Every forward step. "Well, Bruce, aren't ya gonna offer a girl a lift?" I says. It may look like I'm not wearing panties bc I'm not.
At the limousine, the backdoor's held open. "After you," he says, holding my hand as I tuck in the opening, then slide across to make room for his hunkaboo ass. Graceful and masculine he lowers in, closes the escape hatch.
"Okay, Robin, we're good to go when you're ready," he says towards the front. The glass separating us from the driver taps. Bruce puts his arm along the seat-back between us. There's enough room in this compartment for a hot tub.
"Bruce, it's just so big! I mean, wow!"
His arm moves to his lap. "Miss? Are you an escort?"
"Wudja mean? I do look like a thousand bucks, Boy-boy. For your fifteen minutes of fame," I says. "So you wanna do me or what?"
"Ms. Rindell," he says, chuckling, but with crowsfeet. "I'm having a little trouble figuring you out. You've been drinking perhaps?"
"No, but filler up. Today's my birthday. No shit."
—-
"Care for another drink?" Bruce asks at dinner!
I fork a heaping knot of spaghetti into my mouth, then slurp the connected remaining half from my plate up-up and through my lips and teeth sounds like reality's being sucked out a wormhole. The best part about wearing red to an Italian restaurant? The camouflage! Just need to remember and wipe my face, at home I'd be on the couch three hours later with dried spots looking like chickenpox lady. (When I'm in usually it's advantageous to just do Alfredo.)
"You trying to get me drunk?" I says. I'm totally gonna bag this guy I mean it's Bruce # $% Wayne! And since he's a man I know he's thinking the same exact thing. So this's a win-win. "You think I'm easy, is that it?"
"Darlene, it's your birthday. I just want you to enjoy yourself." I haven't had to show proof thus far, but don't think I'm unprepared. Big Tony's got a guy that makes amazing fake IDs, he fixed me up right for this special occasion.
"You'd better catch up, Bruce. Or does alcohol effect your performance?"
"You are shameless," he says.
"lOOK, everybody defecates, we all touch our privates, so what? Hopefully not at the same time though that's not your thing I hope?"
"What?"
"So how's it being filthy rich?"
" . . . I stay busy. I do well for myself, yes," he says. "But regardless of the money, there's always work to be done. I'm in the business of solving problems and helping people."
"Can I have some?"
"Some? Some money?"
"Yeah, of course. Money. I'd like to take some time off, and so then I wouldn't have to, um, save."
"What is it you do?"
"I work in mental health."
"You're a nurse?"
"A what? I'm an M.D., Dumdum, which also stands for 'Missile Destroyer'. Yes, that's right." I clean out my right ear with a napkin, I mean, I go digging. "My colleagues call me Doctor Rindell."
"A psychiatrist?"
"Don't believe me, do ya? I got some pocket Rorschach in my purse, wanna have a go?"
"No-no, definitely not," he says, adjusting his tie. Hm. "I'll take you at your word."
"I used to work at Arkham As—-"
"Arkham?!"
I've seen his look before I immediately sit up, make sure my skin doesn't look like powder. Of course, it doesn't. Phew. This better not be a dream.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
"Am I okay? Bub, what's your deal? Looks like you justseen a pale-faced ghost."
Like I said, I did the full tanning regiment last night, and not just the missus farmer's tan midweek touch-up for work neither but my entire body cause I premeditated to be out of this dress. You get your nails done, maybe your hair, Girl? Me? You have no idea.
—
In the buff, skin to skin, his ribs giving my inner thighs the good washboard rub. And yes I'm pressing on him like a horse too. Even without his clothes, and in the throes, he is so well-composed. No goober faces, no sounds of the orangutang. Just a sexy man doing work, excavating the tunnel.
"Tell me you want me," I whisper.
"I want you, Darlene—-"
"Well you can't have me!" I squeal. "Cause this girl's already got A Room of One's Own." I smack his bubblebutt. "Don't stop, Boytoy!"
"What did you call me?" he says, now challenging the merit of bedding threadcount. I sink my nails into him, to return the favor.
"$# !", he gripes, then pins my wrists to either side of my head. Big brown eyes, stubble, chiseled jaw. Actually every part of this man is chiseled. Tongues entangle.
I yank my hands free, then my arms wrap around the back of his neck, pull his face down into my bosom. Smother him and, tilting my own head back, I release the first wave down the pipeline. RumbleRumbleBoom!
He swells up, clasps now my biceps against the sheets. The second-hand ticks so fast, so consistently, and so loud. Wait that's the bedframe. He closes his eyes, above me, still securing me.
"Don't be shutting your eyes on me," I says. "We in this together. lOOk at me." Face-staring, primal, I try and possess his soul. "You are so good, I love you!"
His body dead-halts.
"What I tell you bout quittin me?! Aint gonna warn you again," I says, getting two handfuls of his hair, both sides of the head. And I start tugging.
"Oww! Why are you—-"
I spur his flanks to get the piston in action again. I hate all this stop-and-go. "That's right, Brucie. Come to Mommy!"
Squeaky-squeaky and he grabs into my hair too both hands as well. My chin begins to elevate, my neck muscles burning versus the pulling. This man is so effing luscious right now—-bc he wants me, I can feel it ya know the full-stinger. But someone's hair gonna start coming out, and this is a big strong man. I'm trying to die in this next wash, but I do love my hair, which looks good in most every shade. You know me as one, but I am Legion, and we are many;) All the while, mind you, the uglies have continued bumpin biblical.
"Give it to me, Thumper!" I scream. Brewing, steaming, the kettle is readying to squawk! I pull the hair a couple more times then let go and punch him wildly in the ribs well I didn't mean to it just happens with me sometimes he halts. Again. Damnit! I'm so amped up right now. And he's coughing.
I thwack his hands away from my hair and slip from under him—-well he was the one who slipped out first har!—-slide my naked body quickly around his sweaty torso onto his back, my legs spread around him. My toes stretching to caress, boingy-boingy:P My heels inside his thighs, what's called setting the hooks.
"I don't like all that pleasure-delayin!" I says.
I get the over-under with my arms around his head and neck, tigerclaw his scapula as his body tightens. Instinctually, his chin goes down, his shoulders come up. Wtf? In other words: Bruce Wayne knows self-defense? Clamp my palms, wiggle my teeny arm under his chin, spearhand, then put the squeeze on his windpipe. The muscles shifting in his back, he's looking for a way out, his hands pry at my arms. Little ol' me, and the beefy cupcake here, what kind of predicament has this become?! Actually, it's called a rear-naked choke!
"Gonna put you to bed, Mister, don't gots another choice."
His chances aren't so good and I just can't let go bc knowledge+size will just squash me. He may even know karate who's to say about three more seconds until it's lights out for him he tries rolling us off the bed but then everything in him goes limp. Well . . . ? I'll be damned.
But I don't got time I just choked out Bruce Wayne in a hotel room I grab his wallet—-I definitely need a trophy—-and a towel then sprint out the door. I throw his cash in the hallway like weddingrice bc taking his money at this point would just be seedy I hit through the stairway my naked feet on the stairs descending descending OMG what just happened?!