Arielle, 36… and Tom, ?

Chapter 18

Arielle, 36… and Tom, ? 

It’s Saturday night, early November. There’s a crisp chill in the air, and autumn is upon us. I survived Halloween - when the crazies came out of hiding to add a little spice, a bit of oddness, a dash of fun, maybe even a pinch of horror to my dating life. These were not the whimsical shenanigans I’d expected. It’s been a weird stretch to say the least, but I’m trying not to focus on that because tonight, I have a date with Katrina, 33. 

            I’m on my way to Casa Nuevo, and despite my best efforts to keep my mind focused on tonight and my meetup with Katrina, I can’t help but drift back to events of the last week. Ever since Rhiannon, my last run of dates has taken a sharp turn into otherworldly bizarre territory starting with Arielle, 36 last Friday. For the first half hour I was floating on cloud nine. I’m not sure of when I began to suspect something funny was afoot…

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            “Wow,” she says, gazing at me with eyes that scream I want you now, “You are so handsome. I can’t get over how gorgeous you are. You are the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.”

            “Stop,” I jokingly sigh, but my eyes, heart, and body beg her to go on.

            “Mmmmmm…” she moans, leaning forward, her foot gently rising up the leg of my pants, something else not so gently rising as she whispers, “I can think of more than a few things I’d love to do with you.”  

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Everything she did from the way she spoke to her deliberate and tactical movements oozed sex. She twirled her straw around with her tongue before biting it gently every time she took a sip of her drink. She batted her eyelashes after each time I spoke. Her voice was seductive. Everything she said was delivered with the sultriness of one of the girls on those phone sex ads that come on at 3 in the morning. She kept touching my hands, or running her finger up my arms. After I felt her foot on my leg, I knew where the night was heading, and I loved it.

            In hindsight, that’s the point I should have begun to realize something was a bit off about the whole situation. Even though I look and feel the best I have in years, the way she was laying it on so hot and heavy should have made it readily apparent there was more to this scene than first met the eye. Yet I was captivated by it all. She was strikingly gorgeous �" another who fell into the category of way beyond my stratosphere physically, but there was something warm and accessible to her demeanor. It was all part of her attempt to lure me in - and it was working. 

            I stared into her twinkling eyes, leaned forward and whispered back to her.

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            “Like what?” 

            “You’ll find out soon enough,” she whispers, swirling her tongue around her straw sending me into a near catatonic state. She leans back in the booth, leaves me in the middle of the table swooning, a world of fantastic images and possibilities whirling through my mind, when her eyes suddenly go wide and surprise is written all over her face. Her hand shoots up and she waves her arm. 

            “Arielle?” A voice, rugged deep gasps. “I thought that was you.”

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            While trying not to listen and feeling uncomfortable and interrupted by this reunion of age-old friends, I looked up at this guy who hovered next to our table. He looked like John Stamos meets Ron Jeremy meets Fabio.

He had longish slicked back dark hair, a sculpted chin, seedy dark eyes, unseasonably tan skin. The top few buttons of his silk shirt were open, heaps of dark chest hair bursting through. Whatever cologne he was wearing smelled amazing. 

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“Pete?” Hearing my name snaps me back to consciousness. 

            “This is Tom, an old friend of mine.”  

“Nice to meet you,” I nod, reaching my hand out to shake Tom’s. He meets it with a firm, powerful grasp and says, “Likewise.”

            “Would you like to join us, Tom?” Arielle asks him, then looks over at me, “If you don’t mind.”

            I do mind. I mind very much �" but I don’t want to be a dick. They’re old friends. They’ll have a drink, catch up, leave me feeling like a third wheel for a while �" but once he’s gone, we’ll get right back to where we were.

            “Yeah, no problem at all,” I lie. Tom slides into the booth beside me.

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I think it was shortly after Tom sat down that I began to realize something was amiss. The first few minutes were filled with normal chatter �" but then it became increasingly apparent that this wasn’t merely a reunion of old friends. Tom sat pressed right up against me, put his arm around the back of my neck, and gazed at me the same way Arielle did. He swirled his tongue around his straw, maybe out the corner of my eye winked at me once or twice. When I felt a second foot touching my leg, there was a moment that I thought Arielle was playing double-footsy with me.

When I felt the third foot, I knew things had crossed into uncharted, unwelcome territory. I wanted to leave right then, but being on the inside of the booth with Tom smothering me like I was mashed potatoes to his gravy, I was trapped. I tried to stand…

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            “Relax,” Tom says. He puts his hand on my shoulder, like he’s applying some Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu hold. It doesn’t hurt but it paralyzes me, renders me immobile and I feel my body plummet back into a seated position.

“So, why don’t you tell us a little more about yourself,” Arielle says, looking into my eyes as if stargazing. I’ve read Ayn Rand’s Anthem enough times that I’m hyper-aware of the pronoun shift. Suddenly I’m aware that this night has veered into a wild direction, a real Tokyo drift �" but I still don’t know what the hell is going on.

            “Yeah,” Tom chimes in, “We would love to get to know you a little better.”

“What… is… this….?” I ask. Tom and Arielle look at one another like they’re speaking some silent language that only they know. Then, as if it’s been choreographed, their voices ring in perfect harmony and unison, "Have you ever been with a couple before?"

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I must say that even though I was being held prisoner like Emily from The Mysteries of Udolpho, and had perhaps been inflicted with some degree of Stockholm syndrome, Tom and Arielle’s “elevator pitch” that followed was pretty compelling, and damn near convincing. They were both eloquent and charming as they attempted to sway me to indulge in what they beautifully and alliteratively deemed my “deepest, darkest, dreams and desires” by promising they would start slow and ease me into the lifestyle, swore they’d stop if I said so, and wouldn’t push the limits until I was ready - these solemn oaths prompting curious thoughts to whirl through my mind if only for a moment before I snapped out of whatever seductive hex Arielle and Tom had cast over me.

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“Sorry. You both seem very nice, but I don’t think it’s for me. I think I’m going to get going…”

They look at one another again, have a telepathic conversation, and decide my response doesn’t justify my immediate release.

“That’s not happening. Just hear us out…” As Tom and Arielle begin round two of their ardent attempts to coerce me, with Tom’s full-body press pinning me against the wall and becoming increasingly smothering, I start to plot my escape.

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            I don’t know what it is about being a grown man crawling underneath a booth that feels so low and degrading �" but after Tom refused to move - and I suspected one of them may have put something in my drink, I had no other choice. I tucked tail and ran the hell out of there.