Page 19 of H Is for Hardcore

“The name’s Chad,” I told her. “That’s a great pair of pants you’re wearing, honey. Nice top, too. And I like what’s in it. You know, I really am the guy your mother warned you about. What time do you get off?”

“Oh, I’m getting off right now,” she said, smirking at me. “Don’t worry, I won’t blow your cover, but you’re about to get lynched on the dance floor if nobody but me takes a closer look.”

I crushed out my cigarette. “Thanks, sweet cheeks,” I said, hoping she didn’t see me go pale. “You need a big comfortable lap to sit in later, you know where to find me.”

“Oh, I’ll find you,” she grinned. “But I have the feeling Danny’s going to find you first.”

A chill went down my spine. Some leather fag bouncer they’d hired, maybe?

“Danny?”

“Danielle,” said Karita. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the way she’s looking at you, Chad.”

Danielle was staring, her chin propped on her fist, her eyes roving over me from across the bar.

I reddened.

Karita disappeared and I drank half my Hefeweisen in one gulp. I tried to light another Marlboro and found my hands were shaking. I told myself this was too crazy—I couldn’t just walk over there and turn on the charm like some tough guy. I couldn’t even change the fucking oil on my Kia Sephia, for God’s sake. All right, I would have two more beers and then I’d go up and introduce myself to Danielle as Trey, she’d recognize me, I’d take off the mustache, I’d slip off the sharkskin suit and the suspenders, unknot the tie, and take off the dress shirt so she could see my slight breasts in the white undershirt I wore, know it was really me. Then we’d have a laugh over it and maybe I could ask for her phone number, take her to a film festival week after next. That was always good for a first date. No way was I going to play this charade of drag-king swagger with a girl I actually liked—that would be stupid; she’d never go for it. That sort of thing would seem silly to an accomplished glam queen like Danielle.

“Excuse me, sir?”

I looked up from my beer and my ears popped; all of a sudden I felt dizzy and nauseous.

“Y-yes?”

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” said Danielle, standing closer to me than I expected—so close I could smell her perfume even over the cigarette smoke and beer and sweat of the bar. What was it? Something I recognized, something my older sister Candace had worn to her junior prom.

“I’m Danielle.” She put out her hand, palm down.

I remembered my manners and stood. “I’m Chad,” I said, touching my lips to her hand and lingering a bit too long. “Chad Cooper.” I found myself taking a deep breath, sniffing up her arm like some character from a Bugs Bunny cartoon. I turned her hand over and smelled her wrist, finally placing the scent.

“Chanel No. 5,” I said. Now that’s femme. “A beautiful scent for a beautiful woman.” My heart was pounding and I felt like I was about to faint—or throw up on her. That wouldn’t have been very butch at all.

“Oh, Mr. Cooper,” said Danielle, making a show of hiding her face and even blushing a little bit—how the hell did she manage that?—even while her eyes showed a wicked sparkle and she licked her lips sexily. “You’re flattering me. I always get so embarrassed when men flatter me!”

“I’m sure it happens a lot,” I said. “And please call me Chad.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” she said. “We’ve just met. I don’t want to seem, you know, that way.”

“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with being that way,” I said. “And besides, we’re going to get a lot more familiar, you know.” Fuck, had I actually said that? Impossible. Feeling drunk with power and fear, I said, “Please sit down.”

She moved to sit in the chair across from me, and I gently grasped her arm. “Not there,” I said, hardly believing I was doing this. I patted my lap. “It’s much more comfortable over here.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.” She managed to suppress the smile that played at the edge of her mouth. I could see her nipples through the thin silk of her slip—harder than before? Was this turning her on? I knew I was so wet I could have slid right out of my chair.

“Please,” I said, and Danielle didn’t have to be asked a third time. She slid into my lap and draped her arms around my shoulders, her breasts just inches from my face and straining to get through that lacy slip. Playfully, she twined her feather boa around my neck and tickled my nose with the other end. I breathed deeply of her scent and felt my cunt respond, my nipples pressing against the Ace bandage I’d used to bind my breasts. I knew from the way Danielle was sitting that she could feel the bulge of the precariously-arranged dildo strapped to my body and stuffed into my jockstrap—and in case I had any doubts, she began to squirm against it, rubbing her ass against my cock as if casually—but there wasn’t anything casual about it.

I looked up into Danielle’s gorgeous face, hoping I didn’t look too much like a schoolgirl in love. To cover it up, I let one hand fall unceremoniously to the place where her ass rested on my knee, and brought my other hand up to her thigh, placing it where her garters met her lace-top fishnets, right at the lace hem of her slip, so much so that my thumb even went underneath the garment. I smiled up at her mischievously, like an adolescent boy doing something bad, which is how I felt—the part of me that wasn’t terrified she’d slug me and my chances would be ruined.

But she didn’t slug me, didn’t pull away. Instead, she snuggled closer, letting her breasts hover ever closer to my face while she ran her fingers through my hair. She cocked her head and breathed seductively into my ear.

“Waitress,” I shouted. “Get this lady a drink!” Then, softer, “What’re you drinking, Danielle?”

“Cosmopolitan.”

“One cosmopolitan,” I shouted to Karita. “You must have watched that HBO show with all those women.”

“In bed with my clothes off,” said Danielle with a smile. “Every fucking week.”

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