Fucking In Manhattan 4
Thursday, February 25th, 2010OK, Anita, he’s all yours. Toni. PPS. I’m backtracking a hundred bucks off my accumulated bill for every act of gross indecency you commit with my dog person. I’ve told Tristan to carve the notches on your bedhead so there’ll be no accounting arguments. Chou! After carefully reading and digesting the file Anita came to three conclusions. The first was that Toni had gotten it real bad. The second was that Toni had watched far too many episodes of ‘Ally McBeal’.
The third conclusion was that Toni had put her lawyer between a rock and a hard place and all the lawyer seemed able to think about was what she needed to do to make that place hard. Being a calm and rational person Anita mixed herself a fresh drink, drank it slowly and then retired peacefuly to her bed for some well earned rest which wouldn’t be disturbed by any further stupid thoughts about Tristam Yorstan. At one o’clock in the morning she got up and switched on her computer again. There seemed to be very little on the net about the Orkneys except advertisments for hand knitted sweaters guaranteed to keep out Atlantic gales. Anita turned her attention towards the web pages of various New York lingerie stores and spent a lot of time looking at items of clothing absolutely guaranteed not to keep out marauding Vikings. The following day Anita was happy for once not to have to appear in a courtroom. The necessary concentration simply wasn’t there. The only thing which her mind seemed determined to fasten on was whether to check out the item of virtual non-apparel which had caught her fancy in the small hours of the morning. Assuming, of course, that she was really going to do what Toni had suggested and turn on an act for a man – a boy – on her own doorstep.
Simple, really. A classic case of plea-bargaining. I’m wearing this piece of nonsense and behaving like a tramp because I’m lonely and unloved and my friends think it’s time I was put out to stud for a while. So which would you rather do, walk the dog or lay the bitch? Either way, you get paid. That was one way of looking at it. The other way was that she hadn’t had a man in her bed for months and it had been years since she’d since a man who’d made her go weak at the knees just by looking at him. If Toni thought she was so frightened of being human maybe she should show her how wrong she was – to hell with being an ice-maiden. Anita Ruger was a long way down the track from being a maiden, her blood ran as hotly as anybody else’s and who cared who knew it? In the end she locked her office remarkably early in the afternoon and went off in grimly determined mood to the nearest Stage Door shop. A mood of determination tempered by the legalistic determination that she still wasn’t making any real commitment, only window shopping.
It was window shopping which ended in the production of a credit card though, and a subsequent ride home accompanied by a ribbon wrapped parcel and enough butterflies in her stomach to pollinate a country garden. The first thing she did when she got home to Gramercy Park was to check the time. It was also the second, third and fourth thing she did. Anita decided she needed to take a grip on herself and bypassed her usual martini for a shot of Smirnoff, the best butterfly killing liquid ever invented. She sat and looked at the parcel whilst terminating a few million of her brain cells with extreme prejudice. Beech wandered over, feeling a vague sense of duty to welcome her home and willing to negotiate some kind of rapprochement with his temporary mistress. It was a cautious approach though. Genetically fashioned to keep both ears on the ground he was well aware of the air of tension she’d brought with her. But she scratched his forehead and he responded dutifully, if not with the outright joy similar treatment from Tristan had evoked.
“It’s easy for you dogs. You can just come right out and say what you want and nobody gives a hoot. Human beings are different though – we’re not supposed to sit up and beg because we’ve got something called pride. The problem is that the more pride we have the more we usually need what we can’t ask for. Does that make a lot of sense to you?” Beech broke wind – a deep rumble that died away into a strange sounding whistle. Anita looked at him with dawning respect and a flapping hand. “You’re right, Beech, you’re right. I never understood that philosphical point before – maybe I should have got a dog myself. Or maybe I should drink vodka more often.” Her fingers flicked playfully at one of his outsized auricles. “Whaddya say, boy, shall we both sit up and beg for a bone?” Beech grunted with seeming approval.
“Well, OK, but I have to tell you that this isn’t going to come easy. When I was a student I could get all the guys I wanted just by going to the beach at Coney Island. Now I have to go to the goddamned Orkney islands for sex.” She re-filled her glass and took it into the bathroom. By the time it was dry she was as well, having showered, powdered, and perfumed a body which now contained an unusually high alcohol content in its blood stream. A blood stream which was beginning to pound against her ears like Niagra Falls. Anita looked dubiously at her naked relection in the full length mirror. “If I’m a lot younger than Goldie Hawn, how come I don’t look as good as she does?” It was no use worrying about that, nor about the extra pounds which had somehow crept through her defenses and hunkered down around her hips. At least she was still a long way from living in a total ruin of a body.
“So why don’t I put on a glamorous dress and let Tristan take me to a restaurant and just see what happens from there?” ‘Because . . . because I’m not interested any any of that stale old routine. Because when he walked through my door the first time I took one look at him and wanted him to grab me. Maybe it’s because there’s something about him that stirs my German genes – maybe a Norseman looking just like him screwed one of my Rhine Maiden ancestors. Toni says that if I’m wearing that chocker he’ll just grab me – OK, let’s see if he’s as good as he looks and to hell with all the usual courtship rituals.’ Answering her own question made Anita shiver. She went into the bedroom and opened the parcel, carefully lifted out the garment inside and slipped it on over her head. Then she returned to the mirror. It looked good – really good, she thought. The Stage Door web page had described it as a stretch cotton/spandex split side mini-dress. The sort of little black number that any lady lawyer would wear to an fashion conscious orgy – sexy without being vulgar. A haltered top, a low cut bodice, a hemline that stopped three quarters of the way up her thighs and splits on both sides of the skirt which went up to her waist. With nothing worn underneath it she was ready for anything that came her way.
‘Hey, lady, are you putting out the welcome mat or what?’ If this didn’t bring Tristan into the breech then nothing would – not unless she coated herself in porridge. She giggled and twirled around on her toes. “Hey, Beech, whaddya think?” Beech did not strain like a greyhound at the slip. He looked at her, yawned and lowered his head onto his crossed front legs. “Alright, that’s it, buddy. Tomorrow I’m going to bring home the biggest stapler in the office and I’m going to clip those big lugs of yours together over your head. See how you like that.” Anita poured another shot of Smirnoff, a generous one, and then went into her bedroom, opened a drawer and took out the choker. She seemed to have grown an extra set of fingers on each hand because there was no way she could clip it together behind her neck. Her brain was all skewed as well because it seemed to take forever before she realised it was a lot easier to secure the clips in front and then rotate the choker around her throat.
Back to the mirror and looking at her slightly swaying image again. “Please, God, let anything happen as long as he doesn’t start laughing.” ‘Do I put on a robe to open the door in? Or just like this? Kiss him or stand back and smile? Make the first move or let him start, like Toni said?’ Ten minutes to seven and all those dead butterflies in the pit of her stomach were dissolving in a pool of vodka mixed with battery acid. She moved around uncertainly, picking things up and putting them down again. Then she took down Beech’s leash and attached it to the choker ring. The dog immediately bounced up at the sight of the leash and began whining with eagerness in anticipation of its daily exercise. “Shut up.”
At the same time the door buzzer sounded. The video screen was filled with Tristan’s hulking shape in a three quarter length yellow oilskin. Trickles of water were visible as he pulled the hood back to show his ruggedly handsome face. Streetlights near the doorway were reflected in the wet sheen of the sidewalk. At least she could claim she’d decided to let him screw her because it was too wet to take Beech outside – even if was the weakest attempt at justification she’d ever heard in her life. “Good evening, Anita.” Her mouth suddenly seemed to be full of dust and grit: “Come on up, Tristan.” ‘Play it cool – put the leash on the dog.’ She did that, and it wasn’t a smart move. Beech was more than ready to go out to sniff the roses and everything else as well. His paws clattered on the polished wooden flooring as he finally did get down to some serious straining on his leash. Instead of standing there waiting cool and collected, the woman of mystery and intrigue, Anita was becoming involved in a full scale tug of war with a small but surprisingly strong body.
“Calm down. Steady, steady, Beech, steady. Oh hell!” The door bell sounded, she pushed Beech to one side with her leg, opened the door, Beech went through the gap like a torpedo fired out of a submarine and dragged her behind him, her hand caught in the leash’s strap. Hitting Tristan was like hitting a brick wall, she went sideways, her legs stumbled over Beech and she was falling, then caught by an arm which caught and held her body upright without the slightest effort. “Beech, sit!” The dog instantly complied to the deep male voice. Tristan set Anita straight on her feet, then looked her up and down. “God, but this is a wonderful country. ” He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out another leash and snapped it onto the choker ring. Anita yelped and tried to get back inside her apartment, only to find that Tristan was still holding her in place. “For God’s sake, somebody might come along the corridor at any minute. Let’s go inside.”
“No, I’ve a better idea. Let’s all go for a walk in the park. Beech needs it.” “Fuck Beech, you big fool. I can’t go anywhere dressed like this.” “Which is a terrible shame because you look drop dead gorgeous. But I’ve a great desire to get some wet grass underneath my feet while I’ve the chance, so I want to take a walk in the park, right now.” Anita cast fearful looks, left and right. “Let me get inside, please, Tristan.” “I’ll do a deal with you. Hand me those keys to your apartment you leave hanging up by the door and I’ll give you this rain coat to put on. Then we can all be on our way.” Anita was so desperate to cover herself up she did as he wanted, moving back inside the doorway with Tristan following her step for step, but still holding onto the leash. Beech whined in disappointment at what seemed like another delayed walk but remained sitting outside the still open door. Tristan took the keys from Anita’s hand and jerked her back out into the passageway, then kicked the door firmly closed. Beech yelped in joy and Anita in dismay. Tristan chuckled and unsnapped the leash from her choker. “Don’t be worrying, woman, here’s my side of the bargain.”
His huge hands snapped open the restraining studs down the front of the glistening oilskin. He pulled it off, revealing an old black and yellow patterned track suit underneath, then held the raincoat up for Anita. It was clammy but warm and most importantly it covered her up decently. In fact it covered her up so much she felt like a little girl dressing up in her mother’s clothes. The hem of the oilskin was hanging around her ankles and when he pulled the hood over her head it was like hiding in a subway tunnel. “Aye, that’ll keep the rain off you. Now we can go into the park.” “I sure did a good job of turning you on, didn’t I?” Anita sniffled. “One look and you’d rather go for a walk in the park.” “Anita, I took one look at you and wanted you on the spot. But I’m getting bored with making out with clinically clean women in high rise, high tech, high life apartments. You were telling me, were you not, that the park over yonder is locked and only residents can get inside? As it not as dark as the inside of cow’s gut out there, with the wind blowing and the rain pissing down? Nobody is going to be in there on a night like tonight. Can we not walk on the wet grass awhile and get to know each other with a little hugging to keep warm?” Her voice came out of the folds of the hood in another wail of protest: “But I’ve got no shoes on!”
“Then it’s me that’ll carry you across the road to the park. Come on.” He took her hand in his and again she felt like a small girl as she was pulled along by a strength totally beyond her own. Tristan went down the stairs instead of using the elevator, moving at a speed which had Anita stumbling. At the first landing he stopped and looked back to see Beech eagerly trying to keep up but delayed by his short legs and big stomach in getting over the ledges, his leash dragging along behind him. Tristam laughed, put his hands underneath Anita’s arms, lifted her off her feet and pressed her back to the wall. “Tristan!” “I’ve been wanting to this ever since I met you, gorgeous.” His face was in underneath the hood, close against her own, his breath was mingling with hers, his lips were against his, his tongue was between her teeth, against hers, and both tongues were pressing and licking against each other. Anita snorted through her nose like a steam locomotive beginning to move out of a station and her fingers slipped up and down the steel muscles of his arms. Then the rough kiss was suddenly broken off and she was lowered back onto her shaking legs.
“We’ve got to keep up with Beech,” Tristam said. “If we’re quick we can overtake him before the next landing and grab another quickie. How about it?” “How many landings are there all the way down?” “Let’s find out.” They did, but nobody was counting. Anita alternated between mad bouts of scrambling down the steps with equally insane periods of her feet treading air and intensely enjoyable french kissing. ‘This is crazy – this is over the edge. They’ve probably got surveillance cameras in here, the co-op board is going to be asking who are these crazy people we got living here? We have a fire, we’ve got to fight our way out past giant men and dwarves in oilskins making love to each other all over the building? In an apartment they want to put on rubber clothes OK, but on the steps and frightening the dog? And you’re telling us this is behaviour from a lawyer who never yet melted butter in her mouth?’ She couldn’t stop laughing, not even when she was out on the sidewalk with rain drops tapping aginst the hood and wind gusts cold around her bare ankles. Tristan had Beech’s leash in his hand and transferred it to hers.
“Here, hold this.” She was off her feet again, cradled in his arms like a cord of wood, the rain was blowing in through the front of the hood, making her eyes blink, and she stared into the face of an old man underneath a raised umbrella, his jaw opened in astonishment as Tristam stepped past him, Anita held high, the leash tugging at her wrist as Beech raced ahead. Then they were in the dark, out over the road away from the street lights and the tree branches were rustling overhead like an angry crowd as Tristan trotted towards the park gate. When he reached them he put her down. “Ooops-a-daisy.” Anita giggled: “You said ‘oops-a-daisy’”. “No I didn’t. An effete Englishman might say that but an Orcadian would say something like ‘Fur Fria Und Odon’. It’s a tribal custom whenever we’re getting ready to sacrifice a virgin.” “I’m not a virgin, Tristan.” “Then I won’t have to explain anything that’s going on, will I?” He unlocked the gate, pushed it open. The sidewalk was cold underneath her bare feet. Anita stared into the dripping and forbidding interior of the dark park. “We’ll freeze to death in there.” “No we won’t. And when we get back I’ll give you a nice hot bath and a good rub down afterwards that’ll get your circulation going nicely – especially to your nipples.”
Anita felt her face turning hot underneath the hood at the prospect. Tristan pushed her past the gate. It was like being put into the starting stall for a race, she thought. Her soles stepped on to a gravel pathway and she gasped with pain, moving sideways to walk on the grass instead.
