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Note: This story is part of a small volume of stories that I have posted here previously. They will appear with different names as chapters (10 in all). I think these stories stand alone well, but they are meant to be read as part of a larger work entitled “Divorcing Myself From Myself.”
This chapter,
, is called “Chloe.” It has been posted here previously under that title.
Thank you in advance for checking this out, and I’m looking forward to hearing what you all think.
Jim
*****
Chloe
I walk briskly across the lobby past reception with a stack of folders tucked under my left arm, and set them down when I get to my desk, take a seat, and settle in to enter information from these legal briefs into a Wang computer with its blinking green cursor at the bottom right hand side of the screen. Data entry work like this can be tedious and mind numbing, but this law office I’ve been working at is pretty laid back – the only people wearing suits are the attorneys, and that’s only on days they will be in court. Plus the money is good, and this gig could go for about two to three months, which is great because right now, cash flow is erratic.
There’s another reason I like this job – a beautiful Australian woman with short blond hair named Chloe sits at the desk to my immediate right. Her accent is hot, and her vivid blue eyes are arresting, but she is reserved, and has a longing manner. Two weeks ago, while she was showing me around on my first day, she told me the story of how she came to the US to get her Master’s Degree in Physics at the UW, where she met a guy named Jeff, and they got married before she graduated. He works for an insurance company, and they live on the Eastside. She went on to mention that he does most of the cooking, while she can barely make toast; he refuses to check a map before a trip and often gets lost, and like the stereotypical male refuses to stop and ask directions; sometimes he’ll drive blocks out of his way to avoid making left turns. As for her, she almost ran into a car head on driving on the left side of the street recently because after three years, she still sometimes forgets that people drive on the right in this country. She also confessed that sometimes, she too forgets to put the cap back on the toothpaste.
She volunteered all of this random information and more on my first day without any prompting whatsoever from me. I just let her go because she seemed like she really needed to get it all off her chest. Yet during all of this, I noticed that sometimes the left side of her upper lip moves briefly into a smirk when she’s amused by something, which is something I find to be molten.
In recent days she’s upped the stakes, allowing her hand to brush against mine when she walks by or taking me by the elbow to show me where she needed me to get something off a high shelf, and even hugging me when I leave for the night. And a couple of days ago, near quitting time, I still had a big stack of work to get through. She came to her desk and started to get ready to leave for the evening.
“It’s almost 5:00, aren’t you going home?” she asked.
“Not till I get all of this done. Nancy the boss said so. Dammit, I’m beat. I just want to go home and crash but…duty calls. And that sucks.”
“Does it spit or swallow?” I look at her, and I’m speechless. She starts laughing. “You walked right into that one, mate.”
I guess I did, but while she laughed, out of the corner of my eye, I noted the ever-present wedding photos on her desk.
=====
So far, today has been good. I’ve stayed caught up on work and will probably be able to leave right at 5:00. Chloe’s mood had been pretty good throughout the day, but at about 4:30, it suddenly darkened. She sat down at her desk to check her messages, and after a couple of minutes, she set the phone down a bit harder than usual and stared blankly out the window for several seconds. Her whole demeanor cooled down significantly, and after a few seconds, she got up and stepped away from her desk, and was gone until just now, when she came back and sat down. She looks over at me.
“Tim, by any chance, are you hungry?” she asks.
“Yeah, you might say I’m feeling a bit peckish,” I say, not terribly surprised by her question.
“Wanna get a bite?”
“Uh…Yeah, Escort bayan …sure.”
“My husband has to work late tonight, and as you know, he’s the one who usually cooks at our house, but we haven’t been to the store this week because we’ve both been so busy and our cupboards are bare.”
“Oh. Okay, sure. Um…let me finish these last few files, and then I think we can go,” I respond. She smiles and opens a drawer to get her purse, logs off her computer, and then gets up with some folders.
“I’m going to take these over to Nancy at the front desk, and then tell her I’ll be leaving for the day. I also have to take the mail downstairs because the chute is clogged, so I’ll meet you in the lobby by the elevators when you’re done,” she says.
“Okay, sure. I shouldn’t be too much longer,” I say, returning to work, entering the names and addresses and other vital data of five single women, and soon enough, I’m finished. I log off my computer, shut it down, gather up the folders I finished, and take them over to Nancy. I tell her good night, and then go over to the closet to get my coat before heading out.
When I reach the lobby, the elevator door opens up, and Chloe is leaning forward in a chair close to the elevators, and she gets up and smiles when she sees me.
“Hi! So, what sounds good to you? Burgers?” she asks as we walk out onto 4th Avenue. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been craving one.”
“That sounds great. I’ve actually had a hankering for a burger myself.”
“Well then, let’s go to Red Robin down on Pier 55,” she says. “Is it okay if we walk? We’ll probably get there faster on foot than if we drove, with traffic being what it is.
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
So we walk down 4th Avenue in the darkening December evening, and in a few short minutes, the Red Robin is on our right on the waterfront. Since it’s a Monday, it’s not too busy, and we’re seated at a decent table overlooking the water. Chloe orders us a couple of pints of Henry Weinhard’s from the waitress after she comes by. “I’ve got this, so don’t worry about cost,” she says, as she takes a healthy swig of her beer and smiling.
“Thanks,” I say, raising my glass. “Cheers!” Our glasses clink.
We engage in small talk during the first round, mostly about the office, and before I get a chance to signal the waitress to get a second, she beats me to it. When the beers come, she takes a long drink.
“So Tim, what do you do, besides working at Kuykendall, Pennywell, and Sutton?” she asks, her upper lip raising slightly in that immensely sexy way of hers.
“Not much. Sometimes I write, but not lately. Lately, it’s been”
Work. Loiter. Make trouble.
“Ooooh, trouble. What kind of trouble?”
“Whatever finds me.”
“It seeks you out?”
“Yeah. We always seem to find each other.”
“You find it in all the right places.”
“Mostly, the wrong places. That’s why it’s trouble.”
“What kind of trouble are you talking about.”
“The troubling kind of trouble.”
“It’s the girl kind of trouble? Am I right? Has a girl found you?”
“That’s a bit forward, don’t you think?”
“Better than being backward.”
“This is true. You sure ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”
“I’m a curious woman,” she says. “So. Has a girl found you?”
“Kinda sorta,” I reply, after a moment. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I think a handsome bloke like yourself would have plenty of girls wanting to root around with him,” she replies.
“And I would think a married…Sheila? Is that how you say it? …would not be engaging in coquetry with some strange ‘bloke’ like you are.”
She smiles and glows.
“Do you mind?”
“Do I mind what?”
“Do you mind that I’m talking sweet nonsense with you?”
“No, I don’t. I’m just wondering what you’re up to.”
“You are a very sexy man,” she says, leaning in, dancing her fingers on my hand.
“And I want you.”
“You’re weaving a tangled web,” I say after taking a big swig of my beer. So am I, of course, but I don’t have the same burdens she does, and morality and ethics aren’t necessarily must have virtues I’m looking for in a shag mate these days. This situation I have allowed myself to be in is as representative of the change that has been Bayan escort going on for me since I arrived here a few months ago as anything. Am I proud? No. Do I care what anyone might say about it? Also no.
“My husband is way ahead of me,” she says in a sudden moment of anguish.
“Yeah?” I ask, after a moment.
“Let’s just say he’s found himself a chica to root around with.” She pauses and looks down, then continues. “I don’t want to bore you with details, but we’ve been in a bad place the past year or so.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“He’s been taking a lot of business trips this year. Down to Los Angeles mostly. Sometimes San Francisco. There’s this woman who goes with him. Her name is Ashley. He works very late, with her a lot. When he’s not at work, he’s at the gym. He’s gotten really buff lately. He puts cologne on when he goes to the office, and I’ve smelled what I’m sure is perfume on his clothes when he gets home. And he’s been a real bastard for the stupidest reasons, like buying the wrong brand of bloody toilet paper!” She trails off and looks out the window onto the lights reflecting off Puget Sound. Then she turns back and finishes her beer. “We haven’t had sex in almost a year. Whenever I try anything, he pushes me away, saying he’s tired or whatever.” Another pause. “One of my best friends said she saw them at a restaurant after he said…” she trails off. “And he called me today and said he has to work late again tonight.”
“Wow.”
“‘Sorry, hon, I have to work late tonight.’ Does he think I’m that stupid?” She looks away onto the Sound again for a long second, then turns back. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“That’s okay. I’m sorry to hear all this.” She drains the rest of her beer and then turns back towards me, smiling. “You wanna skip dinner?”
“No. I really want to have that burger.”
“Really?” she asks, surprised.
“No,” I respond, rubbing my right foot up against her left. “Let’s go.”
Chloe pays the check, and we walk back towards the parking garage at Century Square, and then we take the elevator down one level and walk a short way towards her silver Acura Legend and get in. She starts it, and as the car warms up, she rubs her hands together and blows on them.
“It’s cold out there,” she says.
“Yup,” I reply.
We sit there for a moment, and then she looks over at me for a moment, smiles, and takes my hand and squeezes it. Then she takes a deep breath, puts the car in first and drives up the ramp one level to the exit. She shows the guard her pass, he lets her through, and she turns out on to 4th and makes the first left onto Pike, and heads up the hill and across the freeway to Bellevue, makes another left, and when she crosses Olive, I point out my building on the left-hand side of the street, and she does a u-ie into a parking space right in front. After parking, she opens the glove box and pulls out a CD of Come On Pilgrim by The Pixies and plays “Caribou,” turning up the volume slowly, closing her eyes to take it in.
“I love this song. It’s so sexy and surreal,” she says as she sings along with Black Francis’s shivery howl. “CARIBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOU!” swaying in the front seat with the rhythm. Her eyes open and she sees me, and she smiles and raises her upper lip briefly into a smirk. Then we lean in slowly towards each other. She closes her eyes, and I pull back a bit. She opens her eyes, surprised.
“You bastard!” she says, and then I lean in and kiss her softly. We look at each other again and then kiss again – this time deeply as Black Francis begins the second round of his long, painful clamor. She cups my face with her hands, and then we pull apart. “I’ve wanted you to do that since I first saw you. Thank you!”
“Wanna come in?” I ask. She smiles and shuts off the car, gets her purse, and we both get out. She steps around the car, and opens the trunk and takes out a small black overnight bag, and smiles at me as she closes the trunk.
“You were prepared, I see.”
“I always think ahead,” she says, kissing me.
I take her hand as she steps up on the curb, and we walk up the stairs of my old brownstone, and I open the door. We head inside and down the stairs to my apartment at the bottom of the stairs on the left. I open the door, and Escort we walk into my sparsely furnished pad. There is a couch, a table, three chairs, and a TV on top of another chair. There is also a lamp in the corner.
“Who is your decorator. I have to meet them!” she says with grinning sarcasm.
“Some guy I met when I first moved in named ‘Salvation Army,'” I respond, taking her coat and hanging it up. “I have beer, and I have beer. You want a beer?”
“I would love one,” she says, and I go into the kitchen and grab a couple of Henry’s and give her one. It just so happens that I have a couple of Pixies tapes lying around near my little Sony box in the corner, so I grab one and put it on and then join her on the couch. She smiles, approvingly. We sit together, drinking our beer in silence for a short moment, and then she slowly turns her head towards me with an apprehensive smile on her face. I lean into her, and we kiss again, and then she abruptly climbs on my lap and grinds as the kissing escalates into a life-saving operation. After some time, she stands up and reaches for my hand.
“I don’t think there’s enough room on the couch,” she says, taking me by the hand into the bedroom.
“I agree,” I add, following her, and as soon as we’re there, she peels off her grey rag wool sweater. The white T-shirt she had on underneath comes off next as her eyes lock on mine. I realize how beautiful her breasts with large areole are when she removes her front hooking nude colored lacey bra and lets it fall to the floor. Then she undoes her pants and allows them to fall most of the way down her legs before stepping out of them, and is now wearing only black string bikini panties. She stands demure, tentative, and aroused, much like she was when we first met. I go and grab her and kiss her and embrace her, and then lead her onto the bed. She lies down on her back, and her eyes open wide as I slowly remove her panties, and now she’s fully naked on my bed.
“Are you going to go down on me?” she asks softly. “Please lick my pussy. I love that so much.”
“In a sec,” I say as I remove my clothes, and her eyes note my throbbing erection as it pops out after I lower my boxers. Then I drop to my knees and crawl between her legs and take in the smell of her fresh, clean pussy, breathing and blowing on it, and she squirms. And then I lick. And lick. And lick up towards her clitoris, making her squirm a little, then a lot, and I hear the first moan.
“Oh God, keep doing that!” she says, putting her hands on my head and pulling my hair. I keep licking that sweet, sweet pussy, and her moans become more frequent and rhythmic. This continues for several minutes, and then I insert a finger, which moves her journey to orgasm into the fast lane, and I run it in and out faster and faster as I focus wholly on her clit, and then finally she thrusts her pelvis violently once, twice, three times, and then sinks into the bed spent. Her eyes are closed as she catches her breath, and then I get on top of her. We make full eye contact as my cock finds her pussy, and I reach down to enter her, and her eyes close again as I go inside entirely. I pump and thrust a few times, and then she says, “I want to feel all of you!” So I get off and lie down, and she climbs on top of me and maneuvers me inside. She closes her eyes and rides me, and I reach up to play with those breasts, and bounces up and down and lets out sporadic moans and yelps, and I can feel her PC muscles squeeze me right underneath the crown of my shaft, which is my most sensitive spot, and I think I’m going to cum right there, but I don’t. She pushes me to the edge a few times as she rides me for about three minutes and then looks down at me.
“Do you want to cum inside me?”
“Yes.
“Alright, then get ready to explode.”
Her PC muscle grabs me at that sweet spot beneath the crown, and she rubs back and forth for about 15 seconds before several hot spritzes of cum shoot out of me and into her, punctuated by loud grunts. She drops onto to me and stays there for a moment, catching her breath again, and then gets off quickly.
“I think I’m leaking. I better go stop it before I make a mess,” she says, getting up and putting her hand over her pussy, scooting to the bathroom to get some toilet paper to clean up any spooge draining down her legs. Then comes back to bed to snuggle up with me.
“That was very romantic,” I tell her, and she laughs and starts to curl up next to me. Soon we float off to sleep, serenaded by traffic sounds just outside the window.
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