The Alexandra Series

Chapter Four-1

Chapter Four

Arriving at Jane’s apartment, I was surprised by the modest building. I climbed three flights of stairs to number 327, where a very different Jane greeted me at the door in red leather boots, leggings and a sexy, lace tee. She was positively gorgeous, while I trembled in fear, knowing that eventually, I’d have to remove the shirt I’d worn over the sexy t-shirt. Though I felt bold enough to wear the t-shirt and denim skirt, any confidence I’d had in the dressing room had vanished. My n*****s showed through the fabric exactly as they had in the dressing room. I wish I’d worn the bra.

“C’mon, Alex. I’ve already seen those pretty babies,” Jane laughed as she stripped the shirt away and handed me a glass of wine. “Sit down and relax. I’ve need to finish getting ready.” She walked into another room, calling back to me as she went – “And have another glass of wine when you’re done with that one.”

“I really shouldn’t, I’m driving,” I called to her.

“Oh, stop worrying, I’ll drive if you can’t.”

Her apartment was just like her. Color, lots of color, turquoise and red and pink and yellow, and black and white. Nothing matched, but everything went together, from the sofa with its abundant pillows, to the dark wood tables, and the smattering of expressionist and modern art, framed in gilded gold and brass and silver. It seemed thrown together in marvelous abandon, with each piece having landed comfortably into a pattern that was naturally like Jane herself.

“Let’s go,” she finally announced, sweeping back into the room. “You okay to drive?”

I hadn’t had the second glass of wine and my head was clear, very clear. “I’m fine,” I answered.

I was glad it was dark out, so no one on the street would notice how I was dressed. Once in the car, Jane led me across the bridge and out of town, where we turned onto a narrow highway and continued another few miles. At the junction of two country roads sat a tavern. The weathered and decaying framework made it look as if the building itself was dying, yet from inside, the lights glowed brightly at the windows. The sign that beckoned one to stop read simply, Red Rose, and suddenly my skin began to crawl. No, no. This couldn’t be happening again! What had I done to make this happen? I don’t know how I managed to park the car, get out, and make my way to the long front porch. I was in an altered state, too numb to even think.

To know each board in the crumbling facade, to have heard the creaking porch floor echoing through my mind, to see the red rose just as my fantasies had painted it; to have my imagination come alive twice in as many weeks, the reality finally made me stop in my tracks.

I stood motionless for the better part of several minutes trying to pry myself from the spot. Standing just inside the door, just as in my fantasy, I gazed into a large rustic room filled with loud-mouthed bikers and their women, drinking beer and playing pool. The smell of drugs was in the air. I didn’t know whether to scream or cry, or run or slap myself awake from this nightmare.

Jane practically shoved me toward a table as several pairs of eyes noticed our arrival. Immediately, my body heat began to rise. Thankfully, I didn’t even think about the t-shirt with my ridged n*****s poking through the fabric.

“You’re acting strange again, Alex, what phantom is it this time?”

Rock music blared from an enormous sound system, pounding my ears so that my head began to ache.

“It’s happening again,” I told her, my voice so withered I’m surprised she heard me. I took a huge swallow of the drink in front of me, a strong tasting something that Jane had ordered.

“What’s happening again?”

How could she forget? “I’ve been here, but haven’t really been here.”

“You mean those wicked fantasies of yours?”

“Yes, I mean those wicked fantasies.”

She stared at me amazed. “You’re remarkable.” She honestly meant that.

The drink seemed to settle me a bit, and I began to search the room, looking closely at the people around me. I stared at one dark skinned man – Mexican or Portuguese, handsome in his roughness, with closely clipped hair and a well trimmed mustache. He wore a sleeveless t-shirt, so his tattooed arms were bare and his thick muscles gleamed in the low light. His tight chest stretched the fabric of the shirt so well that his small n*****s showed, and the definition of his muscled chest was unmistakable. The energy from his dark eyes grabbed me right between my legs. I could only stand to look at him for a second before my gaze turned elsewhere.

“Have you ever met a man like that?” Jane asked.

“No!”

“Don’t look so frightened.”

“He’s so…so.” I couldn’t find the words.

“So raw? Animal?” she suggested.

Exactly.

“Maybe I need another drink,” I said, and we ordered a second.

“I can’t believe it happened again. This isn’t something that happens to sane people.”

Jane looked a bit exasperated. “You know, Alex, you can spend your evening worrying about how this happened, or you can relax and enjoy yourself.”

Of course she was right. I took a deep breath, and then another. At least for a moment the tense feeling in my body eased off. Within a few minutes, I could feel the drink starting to have an effect, and my anxiety receded further.

I could feel myself responding to the music, the heavy beat, the crazy noise, all of it infecting me just like the liquor. I could do this. Yes, I could do this, I told myself until my mind was too far gone to think at all. All of a sudden, I wanted to dance, wanted to flirt, wanted everything my fantasies gave me. At least for the moment, I was sure that the inhibitions that had held me back before had finally been driven away.

Rising from my seat to go to the restroom, the first rush of blood made me dizzy; but gathering up my courage, I walked like any brazen slut, my hips slowly gyrating in a sensuous fluid stroll across the room.

I was noticed – a pair of eyes, maybe two or three, zeroing in on my chest. These were not sweet-smelling city men with well groomed hair and properly matching clothes. There was no glint of gold, no polished suits, no impeccably clean shaven faces. These were denim men in cowboy boots dusted with the earth. The potent smell of leather made me want to climb into their laps and smell their scent. They were rugged, earthy, comfortable with danger, extreme players, participant actors, creators of experience doing what others only dreamed of.

As the flames inside my body climbed higher, fueled by my almost drunken stupor, I became more deliberate with my body. Once in the restroom, I looked in the mirror, liking what I saw and feeling a fresh wave of desire sweep through my fired up crotch. On my way back to the our table, I suddenly found myself pushed against the wall by a leather clad biker whose large frame loomed a good six inches above my small one. He was the same burly brute who’d stared at me as I strolled to the restroom, although now he looked more formidable than alluring. He peered directly into my eyes.

“You want some fun, sweetheart?” I could smell the liquor on his breath and my stomach soured. I couldn’t reply. I had no answer and in my silence my fired up body led him on.

He reached beneath my t-shirt to fondle a tit, and I gasped.

“Like that, blondie?”

His hard body moved in closer, so I could smell his scent, a redolent wave of lusty pheromones that went straight to my s*x. I responded naturally and I pressed myself against his thrusting groin. Pressing his mouth to mine, his tongue probed deeply, while the memory of my fantasy biker prodded me on. My body flooded with a fiery heat. Then something else in me, not fear or disgust, but something sassy and provocative, pushed him off. He stood back a little stunned, while I grinned and walked away. Something raw but unspoken linked us now, but as I realized what I’d just done my courage began to fade.

He followed me to the table and sat down between Jane and me. His intentions were clear when he began to play with my leg, tracing a delicate line along my thigh with his finger. The feeling overwhelmed me, and I wanted him to end it now. I prayed that he’d go away, and yet, I did nothing to dissuade him. In fact, I swear that I was coming on to him, inviting him with a flirty smile and taunting eyes, my body oozing s*x. I nervously fumbled with my drink as he asked me questions, little insignificant personal questions that I answered coyly, as if I were seducing him with my evasive replies.

“You think you can leave your friend here for a while, and we’ll have some fun?” he asked.

Jane nodded at me, as if she were pushing me out the door, a mother hen to her chick.

But suddenly, the drink didn’t feel or taste as good as it had earlier, and my stomach turned. Fear, my constant friend, rose up, supplanting my desire. My mind began to race with all the reasons why I had to leave, and leave immediately.

“Sorry, no,” I blurted out. “We have to be going – soon.”

I lied and he knew it.

“And where’s that?” he asked.

My momentary high all but collapsed, and my former uptight reserve returned.

“Really, we have to go,” I said firmly. Head pounding, nerves on edge, a full scale war raging inside me, I gathered my purse and headed for the door in the same swift manner that I’d left The Tropics the week before.

Knowing I was too shaken to drive, Jane took the wheel of my car and we rode in silence. I knew she’d be disappointed, but she showed no signs that she was. In fact, if anything, she seemed to sense my need to back away from bars and unknown men.

“Come upstairs with me,” she said, as she parked the car in front of her building. It wasn’t a request I wanted to challenge. I wanted to be closer to her. I wanted it to be just her and me together, talking, laughing, being friends. I wanted to be the special one in her life for that moment in time. I needed her friendship and her wisdom and a place to be safe.

As we mounted the stairs to her apartment, I felt the strange night, the tavern, the men, the dancing, the booze and the fear slowly melt into another time, far away. I entered Jane’s cozy world, and nothing else seemed to matter but our being together. It was safe, seductive and secure.

Jane motioned me to sit while she changed clothes. Gone were the boots and leggings, replaced with a black knit wrap skirt. She removed the lace tee in favor of a snug-fitting pink camisole. She stopped long enough to pour two glasses of wine from the bottle we’d earlier shared, then while I sat on her couch slowly sipping from my glass, she flitted about the apartment, moving things from here to there. I wasn’t sure what she was doing, except that just looking at her move was a pleasure. The snug-fitting camisole showed off the contours of her breasts and torso. I could even see the dark part of her n*****s, and the centers that hardened into little buds. I had the most compelling desire to touch them, and as strange as it seemed, I didn’t want to squelch the feeling.

At last she sat down on the opposite end of the couch, in a most erotic pose, her legs sprawled wide so that her skirt, already quite short, rose up high on her thighs. I could see between her legs, and realized that she wasn’t wearing any panties. Her closely shaved p***y was right there for me to see. I didn’t know whether to look at it or turn away.

Did she mean to be so provocative? Did she intend to turn me on? Would we make love? My heart beat rapidly at the thought, not with fear but arousal. I tried to dismiss the possibility that s*x was her intent, but I could hardly shy away from the possibility. “Tell me Alex Morgan, why did you run tonight?” Her eyes peered at me seductively, her lips were so exquisitely formed, and the way she talked…I wanted to touch her face, her cheeks, her eyes. I wanted to carefully kiss her lips and feel them return my kiss with her own. I was shocked by my thoughts.