Flashback

It was weeks like this that Monica could do without. She had been sent to New York in the dead of winter to fix the books for a client that was in some rather serious financial trouble stemming from incompetence in their accounting department. Upon arriving she knew that the week she had in the Big Apple would be spent working dogs hours as the incompetence in accounting apparently knew no bounds. Upon calling the home office to complain she spent her fifteen minutes on hold wishing she had never left the temperate climes of her home in Arizona. She was stuck in a tiny hotel room on the Upper East Side and the temperature outside never climbed above ten. Her one consolation were the opera tickets her boss sent her by way of an apology for sending her on this unholy mission. He knew she was a big fan of the opera and he arranged for her to attend a night of young and rising tenors performing selected arias at the Met.

She arrived the Met full of hope that her week would at least have a bright spot, but now standing in her coat in front of the fountain having a cigarette during intermission she knew that this was just a bad week. These young tenors had none of the feel of the great throats of earlier generations and their nerves were apparent in the way they were strangling the highs. She stared across Columbus avenue through the fog and haze of her breath one last time before stubbing out her smoke and heading back inside for more of the sonic torture awaiting her there. At least it was preferable to the miserable cold outside.

Erik's week was going no better, although his was more a comedy of errors; minor setbacks that build up and ruin your state of mind. Dropping his lunch after working himself to near starvation, spilling coffee on his favorite shirt, and burning himself pretty much every time he tried to light a cigarette. Tonight was the topper. As the assistant to the senior sound engineer at the Metropolitan Opera House he was obligated to spend his evenings trapped behind a mixing board rather than at Dorney's decompressing with the boys. This week was exceptionally atrocious due to the particularly sorry performance. A group of young and highly touted tenors had been horrible in rehearsals and were proving even worse under the glare in their performance night tuxedos. After a miserable first half he had raced through his intermission level checks and was rushing through the doors for a quick smoke before he was due back behind the doors. To make matters worse he had to leave the dry heat of the concert hall for the freezing winter February air in only his shirtsleeves as grabbing his coat would take too long.

Monica froze in her tracks. Something familiar caught her vision near the side of the mall in the thick of the crowd receding back into the building. She couldn't quite put her finger on what it was as she scanned the crowd looking for what it was that struck her deeper memories. Before long an uncommon sight met her eyes: a man in a tee shirt standing in the freezing cold was fumbling for a light. She saw on his right forearm the familiar sight that jogged her memory; a thin black band of crossed sabers twisting over ropes of oft used muscle.

Groaning to himself over yet another minor misfortune that further shortened his strained temper was the fact that his lighter was in the pocket of his coat. Cigarette dangling from his mouth, he was now going to have to return to his post without the soothing effect of the smoke he was longing for throughout the interminable hour and a half he had labored so far. The flame that inexplicably flared before his face brought a smile to his lips, not just for the fact that he now had a minute to smoke but conjured up a wonderful memory.

Eight years prior was the first time he had seen her, four years later the last. He was working his way through school behind a soundboard for small Student Association functions. There was a free concert in the Student center and he was taking a break after setting up. Standing outside in the freezing midwestern winter he was trying to light his cigarette but finding his matches were still inside. Before he could curse under his breath a tiny hand kindled a small gas flame in front of his face. Looking to his right he saw thick, soft black hair cascading down to a slender set of shoulders. In the dim glare of the lighter he saw that the heavy, black curtain framed a face that held both the gentle roundness and high cheekbones of the mixed Asian and European blood of the bearer. The result was an uncommonly striking beauty. Wide grins spread across both their faces as he leaned forward to light his Lucky Strike.

The tattoo raced Monica's mind back eight years almost to the day, that early February night under the footbridge from the Student Center to the Clemens Library where she met him. She had gone with some friends to see Skaface at the student center and was outside having a smoke before the show. From the doors to her left emerged a sinewy statue of a man. A cigarette hanging from his mouth the ropes of muscle causing the thin black band of ink on his forearm to ripple as he fished in his pockets for a light. His gaunt face became more and more visible through the thick tangle of curls in front of it as she approached, lighter at the ready.

Her lighter had kindled a lot more than a cigarette; they were inseparable after that night. They moved into a house together with a few other housemates after their freshman year and spent the rest of their collegiate careers learning as much about each other as they did their respective fields of study. He spent his days studying the physics of sound, she the math of finance. At night they were together studying each other's minds and bodies. Before long they knew each other inside and out. He was everything she could have wanted as a lover and confidant, she was his sheela-na-gig, devouring him body and soul.

They stayed in a state of self-contained bliss until graduation. She earned a job with a prominent accounting firm in Arizona while he was drawn to New York to earn his MFA in sound and stage production at Julliard. They spent a week huddled together crying and making love in their room, emerging only for small meals, before going their ways. They kept in touch for a year but life goes on.

These memories swirled before her eyes and before she knew it she was standing next to him lighting his cigarette. He turned to his left to thank the owner of the flame and stopped dead dropping his cigarette to the ground. He was staring into the face of his great lost love. The smiles that spread over their faces were wider and far less controlled than the first ones they shared upon meeting. They embraced as euphorically as only two people so connected and out of touch could. "Holy shit, Monica, how are you!"

"Great! Well, now I am. What are you doing here?"

"Slaving away behind the board as usual. What about you, don't tell me you moved to New York without looking for me?" he asked with anger he wasn't himself sure was mocking or sprung from true disappointment at being forgotten.

"Oh, Jesus, not at all. I was sent here to work on the assignment from Hell, I leave tomorrow." The word tomorrow hung in the air notifying them that their reunion would be brief. "You work here? That must be amazing, all the great music you get paid to hear," she tried to alleviate the awkwardness.

"Usually it's not that bad, but you've seen what I've had to deal with all week with this trash. Just the capper on an awful week." He looked into those familiar glistening brown eyes and felt the euphoria spread through him again. "What am I talking about? I can't believe I'm seeing you. This is a fantastic week."

They made plans to meet at a nearby bar after he got off work and catch up. He spent the remainder of his working hours lost in warm memories. She squirmed in her seat oblivious to the butchering of an aria from Don Giovanni. The moments ticked off and when the curtain closed she made for the coat check and then the door as quickly as she could. He arranged for the second assistant to supervise the strike and left just as fast.

His knowledge of the streets of the city brought him to the bar before her and he was nestled in a booth in back sipping his first pint when she walked in. Heads turned while she was still in her coat. The Met crowd never traveled far enough south after a show to drink with the plebes and the well-groomed affluence she radiated was a rare sight. Her toned legs carried her on her winding path through the thick crowd towards the back, everyone watching to see where this determined woman was striding. When she arrived at a booth occupied by a scruffy man in a threadbare tee shirt and dirty jeans most of them turned away in disinterest. The few that gawked on in disbelief were treated to a vision as she dropped her heavy wool coat. Her black crushed velvet dress was definitely not off the bargain rack. The wide straps over her shoulders cris-crossed eight inches below her neck and continued to plunge all the way to the bottom of the deeply cut back, her smooth skin, golden skin exposed to the base of her spine.

Erik stared in glorious reminiscence at the flesh he remembered as so soft and warm. The limber arms that held him so tightly those years ago reached out after placing her coat on the bench inviting him to stand for a more proper embrace. He stood and placed a quick kiss on her cheek as they hugged warmly. The waitress came to take her drink order after they sat and they began to catch up.

"My God, you haven't changed at all," she exclaimed as she leaned back to drink in his sight.

"Working in theater kinda keeps my diet the same as it was in college, so I guess I'm gonna stay like this for a while," he joked. "You, by the way, are stunning, speaking of not changing."

She laughed. "Well, you know what they say about Arizona: 'It's a dry heat.' Yeah, but it's fucking dry, it dries you out. My husband is always yelling at me over the money I spend on moisturizers."

His heart sank. "You're married? Congratulations." He managed to force a smile to make himself seem sincere in light of the news that the only woman he ever cried over was no longer available to him. She wasn't fooled.

"Oh, well, fuck him. I'll be very surprised if he's not banging some waitress right now." The bitterness in her voice belied the fact that he probably was. His blood boiled that she had given herself to a man who couldn't recognize her worth. How anyone could treat her like that was beyond his belief. They were sullen for a moment, he contemplating the injustice of her being treated in a way he would never dream of, her realizing he would never have done so and regretting her mistake. The merciful waitress arrived with her drink just before the silence got too awkward to handle.

They began to bask in the glory of times past as they drank. They more they drank, the closer they huddled. The comfort level was still there, the physical spark still spurring a need to be close. The tension was just as strong as when they met and the feeling was exquisite. Neither of them had felt anything like this in a very long time.

She leaned in and nestled her head on his shoulder. With her eyes closed she sighed as she felt the familiar coziness of his tight chest. His arm wrapped around her shoulders bringing back a flood of memories. His thumb stroked her hair and his recollections got the better of him, he leaned down to kiss her cheek. His lips met her soft cheek and reflex took her over as well. Her head turned and her lips met his and they kissed naturally. Every muscle in his body relaxed at same moment as a chill flowed up his back. She felt the swell of electricity as the old comfort of his body came rushing back to her. "Let's get out of here," she said to him as their kiss broke and before they could think twice they were in a cab heading back to her hotel.

When the cab pulled from the cab they lunged at each other and kissed voraciously. "Jesus this brings back some memories. Remember the ride back from the airport after Christmas at your parent's place?" he asked as his hand slid around behind her and down to her tight rear end.

She leaned in both to kiss him and to lift her ass off the seat granting his strong hands free access. "Yeah, I think I do. I think it went something like this," she replied with a grin. Her and slid inside his coat and under his shirt, gently and briefly running up his taught stomach before plunging down into the waist of his jeans. He gasped as he felt her hand encircle his cock and responded by sliding his hand up and inside the tight velvet dress. She gave a gentle squeeze as she felt his rough hand cup her breast. He pinched her nipple as she leaned in to kiss him, they gray and silver of winter in Central Park flying past outside.

She straddled him in the back seat of the cab, her dress pulled down off her shoulders exposing her breasts. Her nipples were painfully erect from arousal and exposure to the chill New York winter. He slipped one into his mouth to suck gently and she moaned in relief, both in satiation of her desire and the wet warmth awaiting her nipple in his lips. Her hands shook as she yanked his fly open and wrestled his jeans over his hips. His cock stood out purple and throbbing and she smiled remembering his disdain for underwear that she would chastise him for years ago but worked to her benefit tonight.

His hands darted under her dress as she sat over him. Struggling to maintain composure as her hands began to stroke his length with the skill that only the truly familiar lover can his hands slid up her thighs to her crotch. He could already smell her and was not surprised to feel the coarse lace of her panties to be soaked through. His thumb wasted no time finding her clit; he knew her body like a Sherpa knows they Himalayan foothills. The crotch of her panties were quickly pulled aside and she scooted forward. They gasped in unison as the head of his member began to slip between her glistening labia when they heard a loud crack behind them.

"Hey! We've been here ten minutes! Pay the fare and get the fuck out already. I better not have to clean that shit up." The cab driver was pretty pissed. Monica rearranged herself as Erik simultaneously paid the hack and zipped his fly. With the fare paid they staggered squinting out of the dark cab into the street. They felt like animals, lips wet and chapped from their kisses, loins aching, rushing towards the warmth and shelter of the hotel lobby.

Erik followed Monica as she hurried past reception to the elevator bank. He stared at her ass as she shimmied on her heels; it's magnificence evident even through her heavy wool coat. Arriving at the elevators she hit the up button and they quickly resumed their embrace, lips meeting and tongues intertwining as they waited in the relative seclusion of the late hour. They grew impatient as the seconds ticked on. She pulled back and looked around, grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him further down the hall and through the doors of the women's restroom. Once inside he knew what she was doing and led her into a stall, all of which were vacant.

Once locked inside the stall she yanked at his jeans dropping them to his ankles without even bothering with the fly. He tugged her dress down off her shoulders exposing her small, firm breasts before hoisting her up in his arms. She reached down and pulled her panties down until they slid by themselves to her ankles from which she kicked them to the floor. Her legs wrapped around his waist and he let her slip down until he felt the heat from her crotch on his. The kissed again as she descended the final few inches needed to draw him into her. Emotions roared into them as he slipped into her. These feelings had never been felt by either one of them, they giddy electricity of your first time with someone and the tacit physical understanding only achievable with years of intense lovemaking at the same time.

They clawed at each other. He was thrusting into her frantically as she pumped her thighs to match his pace. They heaved and grunted through extraordinary sensations, their emotions pouring fuel on the raging physical fire. He fought to clear his head as he began to feel her pussy twitch around him. The fact that they were fucking in a bathroom stall did not change the fact that he felt no other desire in the world but to please her. He wrapped his arms behind her and pulled her down on him until she was fully impaled upon his entire length. She bit her lip and tore at his hair as he ground his hips in slow circles. She bucked up and down with her legs to keep the rhythm going as he amplified her sensations with his hips. The orgasm took her over and she squealed. His heart melted seeing the way her face squeezed in on itself as she came like it has so many times before years ago. He continued to grind into her as she thrust onto him and a chain of orgasms washed over her one after the other. Finally she could take no more and hung limp, her muscles failing after remaining tense for so long. He remained inside her feeling her convulse around him as he held her.

Eventually she leaned back and smiled at him before wriggling out of his arms. She kissed his chin, then his neck as she slid down to sit on the seat. She pushed him back against the door of the stall. Leaning forward to hold him there his manhood stood proud and throbbing before her. It was shining, covered in her own musk. Their combined musks mingled and wafted up to her making her feel light headed. One hand remained on his stomach as the other slid down to the base of his shaft. She held it delicately and began to slowly lick her tangy slickness off of him, eventually taking it into her mouth. She descended on him to the root and sucked hard on her way back up cleaning him. She pulled off him with a pop and looked up. "God, I missed you babe."

"How did I let you get away?" he asked as his head dropped back against the door to the stall.

"Shhh, just stay with me tonight. We'll worry about the rest of it in the morning," she reassured him as she lowered her mouth back to his cock. She remembered everything she needed to know to drive him crazy and wasted no time. Her tongue flickered under the head for a moment before she engulfed him once again. Sucking and twisting her head she had him on the verge in short order. One hand grabbed his balls and kneaded them as she felt his manhood begin to twitch. As he gasped and grabbed at the top of the stall door she plunged her nose to his abdomen, swallowing him as he came. His whole body contracted with enough force to make the heavy stall door hinges creak. She smiled and licked her lips as she grabbed the waist of his jeans. She pulled them back up as she stood and kissed him. "C'mon," she said as she slid the straps of her dress back over her shoulders, "let's head back to my room so I can buy you a drink." He nodded his ascent through the fog in his mind and followed her out of the bathroom.

In her room they stripped each other slowly and climbed into bed. They spent the night awake making love and staring at each other, neither one wanting to face the fact that she would be heading back home the next morning. For now at least everything was as it should have been.