The Black Diamond

A tale of a woman living a night in the city

                The night is like any other night. Just like the last night, and I’m sure the next night will be the same. It’s a sham of a city all glitz and glamour, hiding its repulsiveness from the world. At least there’s the Black Diamond. The lights and music are low, as everyone mills about in their own dull way. Some might say the place is alive with energy like an electrical current pulsing from one person to the next. I guess the current doesn’t much care for me because I never feel alive when I’m here, but what’s a girl to do.

                In this town a good dive bar is a precious commodity. Everyone wants a club where you can’t hear yourself think, and the booze flows like water. I guess that’s the appeal of it really. Like a switch to your brain, you move with freedom, free from those pesky inhibitions. Or even a dirty sports bar full of bad food, bad beer, and even worse; bad men. All shouting at TV’s watching men play games meant for children that somebody decided was somehow worth money.  No, the Black Diamond was the only real place to get a drink in this town. Upscale without being a pretentious b***h.

                I watch the floor scanning the crowd. You never know what opportunities might present themselves.  It’s the usual mix of business men looking to hide from the women in their lives, and the women desperate to be that woman they’re hiding from. The natural order of life I suppose. Pathetic if you ask me, but everyone’s got a smile on their face and a drink in their hand. My phone buzzes on top the of hardwood bar. It’s a picture from my boss. I can’t help the irritation that flows through me as I read the message. A sniveling little worm of a man, but a boss is a boss. And unfortunately, that’s the job.

I turn my attention back to my own drink when I feel his eyes on me. Like a warm blanket on a cold December morning he surrounds me. I feel the butterflies that I guess all women feel when a handsome man approaches them. He’s not the first and certainly won’t be the last. Mostly I politely engage them for a minute, or so before sending them back out into the mass of anxious women dying to catch their eye. But maybe the energy of the room finally decided to find me, because I find myself curious.

                Tall, dark, and handsome with a dash of stubble all wrapped in a three-piece suit. I brace myself for disappointment as he opens his mouth. Mentally cringing at what I’m sure will be some romantic drivel designed to make me swoon, falling into his arms, while also making my lace fall to the floor.  And yet a surprise for the night. A simple acknowledgement and greeting are what I receive. We raise a glass, and I toast to life’s small blessings.

                We carry on throughout the night. His company a welcome distraction for the evening. He does what a man is supposed to do. Listening when I want him to, while filling the void in conversation when needed. He doesn’t bore me with his insignificant daily conquests of the corporate battlefield. Where little boys go to play, thinking themselves men. Nor is he some halfwit reciting poetry trying to impress me in his failed attempts at wit and charm. He is just a man making conversation, enjoying the company of a woman. A lost skill set in men now a days if you ask me.

                Finally, he asks the question, the one all men get to eventually. Maybe it’s the manor of his delivery, or the tone of his voice. My mouth fails to utter my usual response. Instead I feel my lips moisten with a quick flutter of my pulse. Damn, where did that come from. I give him another once over, inspecting the package. A small smile crosses his face at my appraisal. He’s a man. He can’t help himself. What the hell, I can use some excitement tonight.

                Like an unspoken signal he lays his money on the bar.  With a nod I point to a staircase towards the back, blocked off by a velvet rope. The dance is not a complicated one. He stands, I stand. His hand rests on my lower back as we make our way through the throngs of businessman. The man guarding the rope pays us no mind. A mindless waste of oxygen if you ask me. We take one of the private rooms reserved for people with too much money to waste. I remove my keycard, letting us in.

                It’s always the same dance, that unspoken nervousness between two people. The excitement of something new, mixed with fear and desire. Most try to fill that space with unnecessary talking, like a build up while they try to find the courage to do what they set out to do in the first place. Or even worse they try to mask their unease with bravado, claiming how they will fail to disappoint. You just hit the jackpot doll, because I was sent down from god himself to give you the time of your life. It’s enough to kill the mood almost instantly. But occasionally you find a man who knows better.

                My dark stranger simply removes his jacket and pulls the tails of his shirt free. The cold steel of his trade is naked for all to see. He’s not in a hurry but might as well get comfortable. The gun hardly makes me nervous. A dangerous man is a rare delicacy. But I have to say the picture from earlier hardly does him justice. I kick off my shoes and find my place on the bed. I register a small hint of disappointment in his eyes. To late honey, if you wanted the heels you should have said so. Once there off, they stay off. Classic rule for any woman. He recovers quickly enough. One opportunity missed but there is still more to come. He lays beside me propping himself on his elbow and pulls me close. The kiss is short and sweet. The fact he doesn’t try to suffocate me with his tongue right off the bat is a plus. Some men need to learn that a kiss can be something besides trying to consume your partner. There is a time and place for that.

                I purr as he leaves my lips. A good kiss should be rewarded. He follows it up with a few more, while his hands set out to explore. Patience can be a blessing in a lover. The trick is knowing just the right tempo to set. To slow, and you’re lying there bored just waiting for him to move on. Too fast and he’s just a one speed teenager bumbling about. But my stranger seems to have at least some inkling as to what he’s doing.

                We fall into the sensual dance done throughout the ages. It is simple and effortless, as only a good lover can bring out of a woman. Our clothes find themselves scattered across the floor. His body hard and lean; I welcome him with my heated embrace. His body flexes and ripples against my touch, as my hands glide along his sweat soaked skin. I can’t help myself as he draws the cry from my lips. The song that every woman burns to sing for her lover. I lock my legs around his hips. The feral grin on his face plain and delicious to gaze upon.

                We lose ourselves in a symphony of lust and desire. The song we create is beautifully decadent. Our bodies humming with the frequency of every note. How such a timeless song can be felt in such a brief span of time is still a marvel to behold. Minutes transform into hours as we ride the wave, crashing into a crescendo of pure bliss. Songs and poems fail to portray the rapture of this bliss, although many have tried. We fall into the bed, our minds and bodies soaring through the heavens. I bask in the sweet relief unwilling to return to the cold empty world. But life is not a fairy tale.

                The following minutes pass in the awkward state that always follows. Thanks for the ride but this is where I get off. Should I be polite? Should I just be a dick? It’s a conundrum all men face. I save him the trouble. I’m not looking for love. I give him a kiss and a smile. Like the smart man that he is, he knows what it means. I prop myself up in the bed finding a cigarette. I enjoy the view of my dark stranger as he reassembles himself. Again, the cold steel of his gun flashes in the light. The thrill of a dangerous man is a delight every woman should experience.

                Once he finishes with his clothes he injects the same small talk all men feel compelled to express. I don’t know, maybe it’s their way of saying thanks. Or maybe they decided they ought to talk. Kind of like the mystery is done so what’s the point. I just smile and nod, responding where it seems appropriate. But finally, we get the heart of the matter. I don’t know, maybe guys can’t fork over some cash without conversation.

“Chad was right. You are his best girl”, he says full of gruff, slapping the money on the dresser, “Worth every penny. You haven’t been the first and you certainly won’t be the last. But you are definitely the best, darlin. It’s just a shame no one else will get to enjoy you again.”

                With two whispers and a flash, I’m sent into the timeless void. I can’t really claim disbelief, its an occupational hazard. A risk of the trade. But hey, I can’t complain, at least he was pleasant. The last john of my life wasn’t a sniveling baby. Well I guess this is it, hopefully the afterlife doesn’t turn out to be a drag. Here’s to the ride while it lasted.

 

 

               

Reviews

[Yama Eve]

You carried a really clear voice throughout this story despite not having much dialogue. There was also a subtle air of mystery that I really liked! Surely wasn't expecting the ending... but I liked it! Nice work.

[Bishop Cain]

Thank you very much