Recognition--Story

Recognition

I used to rate record stores by selection and the hotness of the clerks. Now that there aren’t so many stores anymore and I am older and half-respectable (i.e. I have a job, but not a hip job). I go by selection. But I got an extra treat in this one I stopped in during lunch on Friday. She was one of those mini-punk girls I remembered from back in the day. I always thought of them as Pixies. Short and stacked with short black hair, deeply rouged eyes, bee-stung lips and tightly assembled in ripped fishnets, Doc Marten boots, a short black skirt and a little t-shirt. She had a leather and chain collar and the neckline of the shirt revealed tantalizing cleavage and the edge of a tattoo. She moved as I browsed and saw a tight pierced belly. I knew what I’d be thinking of tonight at bedtime.

I laughed at myself for my cowardice. Back in the day, I would have asked her out. Now I was a ‘Herman’ in Khaki’s. The rejection would be more than just ego-deflating. I might kill myself.

Eventually, I found what I was looking for and brought it to the counter.  Up close she was even cuter and a little older than I had first thought. She had serious cheekbones and bright blue eyes.  She looked over my purchases with an appreciative eye.

“Not bad,” she said, and I felt stupid for how happy her praise made me.

“Downloaded it. Liked it. But…” I began.

“…CD quality is much better,” we both said at once.  There was a stunned silence, and then she favored me with a warm smile and said, “You got that right.” She handed me my change and a little card.

“What’s this?” I asked looking at the card and figuring it for some store promotion.

“It’s not the store’s,” she said, meeting my eyes. “There’s a party tonight at that address. That’s your ticket.”

”What kind of party?” I asked as she took my arm and led me to the door.

“A kind you’ll like. My name is Jules and I hope to see you there,” she said and I found myself on the street.

I shook my head and normal life resumed. I went back to work and moved papers around, hyper aware of the card in my pocket and at 9 pm dressed as hip as I could get without being laughed at for reaching, was standing outside the door to a downtown townhouse, listening to the dull throb of music within.

I stepped up the stoop and knocked.  A little slit I associated with drug dealers and speakeasies opened and angry eyes peered out.  “What?!” they demanded.
I held up my card.

“Who gave it to you?!”

“Jules,” I said. Hoping he wouldn’t ask ‘Jules Who?’

He grunted and slid the panel shut. Then I heard a deadbolt being slid and the door opened letting a flood of Gothic music and expensive scent into the cool air.  A man built along the general lines of a wall nodded at me and pointed me in the direction of the music.

Just past the doorman, there was a chopped off Greek pillar with a big metal bowl on top. The sign above said. “Take a handful. Nobody fucks with Death here.”  I looked into the bowl and saw thousands of condoms. While I was rereading the sign to appreciate its full meaning, a naked girl ran to the bowl, and scooped up an armful, looked at me quickly, smiled, and dashed back into the darkness giggling. I already had one but I took a few more and shoved them in my pocket. I figured there was a fifty percent chance that this was a sex party and an equal chance that I was the butt of an enormous joke. The only way to play it was to play it cool and that’s what I did. I heard the telltale sounds of a bar and found it in the next room.

The bar was full of eye candy, but no Jules. I got a drink and took it all in.  There didn’t seem to be any walls in this place. The entirety was hung with black and white cloth and the floor was plastic sheeting. There were couches against all available wall space and under dim lights; couples, threesomes and more cavorted.  I wanted my drink and to look for Jules but there was something compelling about the sex and suddenly I had another problem.

A blonde girl in a fishnet bodysuit walked up and started kissing me.  She was very good and I responded, feeling strange.  After all I had been invited here by someone else. I tried to break it off but she was on me like a lamprey.

“Beatriz.” A voice came. “Later.” And the blonde released me and slinked off. Jules looked up at me and wiped my face with a napkin. She turned to throw it to the bartender and I got a good look at her. She was in a blue shoulder-length wig and wearing a short black corseted dress of black leather and black boots. She was amazingly hot.

“Thank you for the rescue,” I said.

“You came,” She stated.

“Beatriz isn’t THAT good a kisser,” I replied.

“Good to see you’ve adjusted to the ambiance,” she said and smiled. “I meant you came to the party. I’m glad.”

“Here I am and you look even more...fabulous than when we first met.”

“Thank you, good sir. You look even better too,” Jules said and suddenly there was no one else in the room, in the city, maybe even in the whole universe.

“I’m Chris,” I said. “And I am honored to be here.”

“Chris.” She repeated. “A Christopher Chris or...”

”Christian,” I told her. “But if you call me that everyone will assume I’m gay.

“Not if they see the way you look at me,” she replied. “Let’s walk, Chris.”

We toured the townhouse and happened upon just about every sex act in the book. Humans rarely look as sexy as they think they do when having sex, a lesson I learned some years ago through an unfortunate videotape. But these were a particularly attractive group of people. So there was a lot to comment on and I seemed to be making points with my wit and my openness.  We seemed to be about equally quick with the snappy remark and it was nice. In some ways it was like a normal date. She was testing me. I knew that and for the first time in a while, I liked it.

After we completed the first floor tour, we ascended a wide and winding staircase to the second floor. This one was in less disarray with a few couples and threesome in scattered bedrooms and a few in the hallway.  We moved back to the staircase and she turned to face me.

“Q&A time,” she stated. “Married? Dating? Pining? Bitter? Hateful?”

“Never married, not enjoying dating(present company excepted), no pining , not bitter and I’m fairly loving,” I replied.

“Any diseases or medical conditions that the guests should know about?”

“No,” I replied.

“Porn of choice”

“Erotic Cartoons.” I replied

“Wildest sexual act?”

“I nominate that green-haired guy downstairs.”

“Smartass,” she said sweetly. “Answer the question.”

“I once gave a woman a foot massage till she orgasmed.”

“I would like to--ermf-see that sometime.  Okay. You pass,” She said taking my arm back. “The real party is up here.” We started up the stairs. This area was very different and it took me a minute to realize that it was because it was furnished with more than just couches and cushions. In fact it looked like somebody’s home. It was also completely empty of partygoers and much quieter.

“Are we the first ones at the real party?” I asked hoping she wanted me alone.

“You’re the only one I invited.”

“I see.” I smiled and asked. “Why me?”

“Cuz you looked at me right, you didn’t try any stupid line, you picked good music, and you’re damn cute.”

“How did I look at you right?” I smiled. “I thought I was just ogling”

“You recognized me as someone like the someone’s you used to get with and it made you a little sad. But it didn’t stop you from checking me out and appreciating me.” She paused. “Are you going to kiss me?”

Of course I was. I tasted her ruby lips for the first time and they were soft and yielding. I put my hands on the leather waist of her corset and could feel her breathing. Her tongue sought mine first and we met somewhere in between.  Suddenly I became concerned with where to put my hands and how far I could go with her. More dumb dating rules. There I was at a party in the 21st century and I was playing by 1950’s rules and worrying about bases. Gee whiz, will the girl who invited me to the orgy be offended if I touch her breast on the first date?  This entire thought played in about a hundredth of a second and then I was lost.  We came up for air and then I started kissing her neck and sampling her strange/familiar scent. She clung to me and began sucking on my chest.

We tumbled onto the couch behind us and I learned just how difficult it was to quickly exit a corseted anything.  She got my shirt off and we pressed our naked flesh together for the first time. The tempo of our kissing slowed a bit. I found myself spending time on my acts. Really teasing a nipple before moving up to her neck.  Eventually, we were joined by Beatriz and her friend, a blonde who didn’t introduce herself before she began licking me.  They didn’t say much, either one of them, but began kissing both of us with a vengeance. I was bitten several times. Beatriz undid my pants and pulled them down without taking off my shoes. If I tried to stand up I’d fall on my face.  I felt like I was in the center of a hurricane and suddenly worried about losing Jules in the storm. I pulled her closer.

”Don’t worry, baby,” she said into my ear. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

And I wondered if she could read my mind.  Beatriz and the blonde began playing with each other and I managed to get my shoes off and got rid of my pants. More mobile now, Jules and I practiced twining ourselves around each other. Then she looked deep into my eyes and put her mouth to my ear.
“Pick me up,” she said.
I took her in my arms and stood up.
“Take me that way,” She waved an arm and I marched off in my boxers and socks, carrying my hostess to—-a bedroom.

I let her down onto the bed and she took off her wig, pulling out bobby pins and shaking her short bob out. I liked her better that way and I told her so.  I took off my socks to keep it classy, and looked at Jules. She smiled and gave me the ‘come on’ gesture with her hand and I joined her on the bed.  I remembered my condoms then, in my pants and said something but she pulled one out of somewhere and insisted on putting it on me. I was naked. She still had her stockings and boots on.  They were easier to get off than the dress had been. She pulled me close, pulled me into her and we joined.

This was a test too. A different type of compatibility test and I passed, if her cries were any indication. I enjoyed myself too and afterwards she cuddled up close and made nice sighing sounds. We listened to the rhythmic thumping from downstairs and the soft sounds of the two blondes in the other room until rain began to patter on the slanted windows.  I stole a glance at my watch and saw how early in the morning it was. And suddenly I was very tired.

“Can we stay here?” I said. I could barely keep my eyes open.

“Yes we can lover,” Jules murmured into my ear. “I know the owner.”

Apparently that was good enough for me and it all faded to black.

When I woke up, I was alone and the sun was streaming through the giant windows. I located a bathroom and took a look at myself. I had marks where Jules, or the other girls had bitten me and they made me smile. I washed up happily.  I found most of my clothes by the couch and bed, but I had to go hunting for my shirt. The townhouse looked smaller in the light of day, and I could see the detritus, condoms, wrappers and torn sheets of plastic. My shirt was behind a couch in the back ballroom. I picked it up and sniffed it. I detected nothing awful and was putting it on when I heard her.

“Chris?” She said.

I turned and Jules was coming toward me from the back. She had no makeup on now and she looked...sweet. She was wearing a silky grey nightgown and it felt great against my chest when she hugged me.  “I’m sorry you had to wake up alone, but I really needed a coffee.”
Not used to this kind of affection or courtesy after a one-night stand I focused on the food.

“There’s coffee?”

“You’re still waking up,” she said and rubbed my head playfully. “Coffee awaits!” she announced in a way I could only describe as perky, then she took my hand and led me into the sunlit kitchen.

However she was, it was infectious.  She talked to me about the owner of the building. An old swinger friend of her family’s who was hiding from lawyers on some island. She talked about her record store and how the business was changing. She asked me about my job and I explained for the nth time that detective agencies like mine were boring. She talked about the dating service she wanted to set up. Hook up old punks who’d partially assimilated into normalcy. She believed they couldn’t find anybody on their own anymore because Doc Marten’s got so popular that everyone was wearing them and it didn’t work as a way to find the cool people anymore. If I was any judge that was sure true. I suggested creating a recognition sign like Lesbians had back in the 50’s and we descended into hilarity as we topped each other suggestions.  Then we grew quiet and she looked at me.

“Do you have to be anywhere today?” Jules asked me.

This was moving awfully fast and some quality of my hesitation must have shown.

“I know, I know. It’s just not normal for the girl you had the first date with at the orgy to ask you to spend the day with her. Better you should go home and alphabetize your CD’s or something,” she said, looking at me levelly with those disarming eyes.

It occurred to me then that maybe what I didn’t like about modern dating was all the unwritten rules. I was missing---this. The spontaneity. “What did you have in mind?”

“God, do I like you,” she said. “You obviously think, but you don’t make me listen to the whole fucking process. Well, there’s a great indoor flea market-“

“Jackson’s. I know it," I said. “That sounds good and there’s a great restaurant down that way. Do you like Japanese?

She grinned. “I do,” she said. “But first, we need to shower.” We should aim to get out of here by 1 or the place’ll be totally picked over,” she said, standing up.

I looked at the clock. “We need an hour to shower?” I asked.

She wrapped her arms around me and kissed my chest. “We might find something else to do,” she said. “Or do you only like me when I’m all punked out?” She asked looking directly at me with those blue eyes.

That was the question, of course.  I had come here because of a familiar image. Under the image was a real person.  The truth? I wanted her more than I’ve ever wanted a woman.

“Try me,” I said.

She sighed and we walked arm and arm up the winding staircase.

THE ENDish