Just to add a little smite to my recklessness, I briefly thought about leaving the real CeCe in the restroom, and then board the plane with her family, them none the wiser. I am her double. Sure glad that didn’t happen. It was a stupid idea. I don’t know what I was thinking; like the chick was going to wake up, be happy she’d missed the flight, party down, and not worry in the least when no one from her family calls to check on her from Europe? Duh! What happens when Mommy and Daddy start Facebooking family vacation pictures with her in them? Talk about serious drugs and therapy sessions.
“You’re not gay, are you?” Blue Eyes blurts.
God help me, I laugh. I could tell him the gender of my sexual partner, or for that matter, the body I choose to wear really doesn’t matter much. I’m down for the ride, male or female, if they piqué my attention. Evidently my laugh is enough to quell his concerns.
“Cool, because I like you.” He runs a hand seductively up the inside of my left thigh, face moving toward mine, and fingertips taunting the edge of my black lace panties. “And because I do, I’m gonna tell you right up front, if you’re looking for a high-priority, total commitment, long-term relationship kinda thing, I’m not your man.” His grin curls into a borderline pervy smirk that’s lasciviously delicious. “See, I can only concentrate on one thing at a time.”
Yeah, I got that the first time he opened his mouth.
His middle finger flicks the elastic on my panties. “And I concentrate real hard.”
His other hand reaches for mine.
Damn him all to hell. The guy is yummy enough to eat, if he would just keep his mouth shut.
“Well, then, I guess you’re my man,” I say, and give his raised zipper a little squeeze.
It takes him a few seconds. I can almost hear cogs roll as he probably plays his comment and my answer over and over in his head. I’m about ready to spell it out for him, but he finally gets it.
“So, your place or mine?”
“How about the alley behind the building?” I toss a twenty on the bar and lift my glass.
“You’re shitting me, right?”
“I would never do that.” Setting the empty glass down, I stand—chest not an inch from his lips—and run CeCe’s store bought fingernails along his leg.
His hand slides out from under my skirt and lands on his knee. I give it a little pat as I toss my leather jacket over my shoulder and head for the bright red exit sign.
Glancing at the mirror over the bar, I watch him chug his beer, slap money on the bar, and scramble to his feet.
Outside, I strut past a dumpster and down an alley alongside the building. When I turn, Blue Eyes pushes me against the wall and runs his lips up my neck to just under my ear. The noise from the bar is nothing more than a vibration through the brick at my back. As he nibbles, I stare at the dumpster ten feet down the alley. It reeks of stale beer, rank food, wet cardboard, cigarettes, mold, and vermin.
Rats to be exact. Ah, the smells of the street. It almost makes me feel like I’m down in the sewer—home sweet home.
He stands over me with both hands spread on the brick wall by my head, his jeans rough as he knees my legs apart. I drop my shoulder, and my jacket falls beside our feet. Blue Eyes works the buttons on CeCe’s silk shirt, and his thumb finds her nipple under a black lace bra. A moan escapes my lips as his tongue muscles them apart.
I open my legs to his caressing fingers, breaths short and shallow. CeCe’s heart thumps under the shell I’m wearing like a second skin. Together we experience a rising need, a surge of sensation from deep within.
Blue Eyes pulls back and I moan with a strong desire to have him close again. He locks eyes with mine, reaches under my ass, and lifts me until I’m riding his hips. Head on my shoulder, teeth grazing my neck, he pins me to the wall with his chest while he unzips his jeans. Sliding CeCe’s skirt over my hips, he reaches under her panties and pulls them aside.
He grabs a fist full of my hair, and a whimper of desire escapes me as Blue Eyes slides inside. My legs tighten around his hips, and pull him deeper.
He was right back there in the bar when he said he could only concentrate on one thing. I have a hunger to feed and he’s doing a fine job nourishing it.
***
Two days and three guys later, I’m lying by the pool behind CeCe’s tri-level home on Lake Harris, soaking up the rays. I’m thinking about Blue Eyes, when an old woman appears beside me. I know it’s my mother the moment the host opens her mouth.
“Get out of that body and get into this box.” The wrinkled woman shoves an empty and soggy Tampax box at me. It smells like sewer water. “You’re coming home with me, young lady.”
Although the smell of the sewer is an appealing reprieve from the overly chlorinated swimming pool, I am where I want to be at the moment.