The Singles Club

The singles club met every Friday night. It was a night that created the sense of a relationship, or the dating experience without actually dating. The group frequented Quivers, a hip dance club, and tonight was ’80s night. Blue, yellow, and red squares painted each wall in wild rotations, the disco ball refracting silver light in overlapping dimensions. The dance floor was jam-packed with partiers as Duran Duran blasted the song “Girls on Film”.

Craig had sweated on the dance floor for long enough, and now he retreated to the bar for liquid refreshment. A whiskey and soda.

“You’re a camel when it comes to drinking,” Susan, his friend and fellow club member, chided him from a nearby table. She raised her voice to match the music level. “Sit down. Let’s hang. How the hell have you been?”

The singles meeting played out differently tonight. Their four other friends couldn’t make it this time. Later, Craig learned Susan arranged for their absences. The others really went to see a movie. The Terminator, if he recalled correctly. Susan wasn’t the kind of girl he wanted a relationship with. She was more of a friend, but with new hindsight as an older Craig Horsy, he had a completely different take on the situation.

Susan was gorgeous. Her blonde hair was silky smooth in the club’s lights, the locks flowing down to her shoulders in golden waves. She wore a silver sequined dress that bragged generously of her borderline D-cup cleavage. She had a sleek body shape at one hundred and twenty pounds. Susan wasn’t thin to the point one questioned her diet, and he liked that. There was plenty to grab from her hind quarters too, and Craig especially liked that.

She said, “I’m not drunk yet, but I’m working on it. The night’s young.”

The waiter brought her another round. A sea breeze. “Here you go, ma’am.”

Taking it to her lips, she asked, “Who ordered this for me?”

Craig raised his hand, being the guilty party. “I saw you before I hit the bar and ordered it. I owe you a drink, right? If you weren’t here, I would’ve shown up alone. How embarrassing, huh? The singles club would’ve been, well, one single guy.”

She clasped his hand. Looking at her, her eyes shined more than they would normally, as if on the verge of happy tears. She glowed. Susan was perked about something, and with that valuable insight from the past, he understood she had a crush on him. He was an idiot not to realize it at the time. He was twenty-eight in this memory. Three years after he lost Katie and his unborn child. Relationships were still tricky. Time had failed to heal his wounds.

Or you were simply a chicken shit. You have a right to enjoy your life. Why didn’t you see her for who she was instead of letting your goddamn emotional baggage get in the way?

Kevin and Brice, the two other men in the singles group, grilled him the following day because he’d turned Susan down for a nightcap. “You were cold to her.” “Are you that stupid? She’s head over heels for you, man.” “She practically wants to be your wife.” “You could’ve turned her down easier, or given her an honest chance first.” “Susan’s such a nice woman. And she’s been married before. She’s in the same boat as you.” “She’s a corporate secretary for a law firm, and you’re a garbage man. And she doesn’t care. She’s not fickle like those other bitches out there.” “You’re an asshole, Craig. Why don’t you forget our meetings? This is a support group, or did you forget?”

Susan reached out and touched his cheek with three fingers. “You’re blushing.”

“But it’s so dark, how can you tell?”

Every ounce of her was trying to hold back her true feelings for him. She couldn’t stop smiling at him. Her eyes were so soft, it was endearing.

She plucked the cherry from her drink and rolled it up and down in her mouth. She tied the stem, then she stuck out her tongue and showed him her hard work.

You were such an idiot. She’s screaming for you to throw her a hint.

He never said this to Susan the first time this happened. “Of all the women I know, Susan, I’d want to get to know you better.”

Rod Stewart’s song played, If you want my body, and you think I’m sexy…

He’d read her correctly. Susan’s face lit up at his words.

What he really said that night was, “I don’t like it when women hit on a man without knowing if he has feeling for her first. It’s a sign of being kind of a slut.”

That was it. He was embarrassed by his behavior. It was the fear of commitment talking. Susan shut down after that. It was too late to fix the damage. Susan later dated Kevin in the group. They married a year later. He wasn’t invited to the ceremony; Brice told him after the fact, and by then, the singles club had officially disbanded.

Susan slugged the sea breeze down, giving him a pair of lustful eyes. “I’ve got better booze at my apartment. How about a nightcap?”

Thank you, Dr. Krone. I owe you one.

Maybe you’re not so bad.

Maybe.

“Yeah,” he agreed, standing up and taking her by the arm. “I’d like that very much.”

 

 

The ride home was fast. She lived six blocks from Quivers. They were making out in the hallway of her apartment building, her legs wrapped around his hips as he carried her to her room. “I don’t care if the neighbors wake up,” she whispered in his ear. She was giggly, and he was pressing all the right buttons, caressing her shoulder blades and cupping her ass and kissing between her neck and ears when he could, though doing all of this carefully so as not to drop her. Arriving at her door, he placed her back onto her feet so she could unlock her apartment, and shortly after, they spilled inside, practically racing for the bedroom.

“This way.” Susan threw the door closed and stepped out of her sequined outfit. She was draped in shadow, the curves along the small of her back and the top of her buttocks visible, taut and muscular hard lines and soft flesh. A monarch butterfly tattoo had been inked on her right shoulder blade. Her car seats were draped in monarch butterfly covers. She often wore butterfly necklaces and earrings too.

Following after her, he observed her bedroom, the bed itself surrounded with a silk net like some kind of French sex palace.

God, why did I turn down Susan? I’m such an idiot. I even liked her. I liked her a lot.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” She sauntered back to him with a strut, her arms outstretched to snatch him back into her grip. “I didn’t think you shared the same feelings.”

“I should’ve owned up to them.” He hugged her close. Really embraced her. He whispered, smelling the sweetness of her hair and the wanton saltiness to her flesh, “It really means a lot to me somebody like you could take an interest in me. It’s very flattering. I’m lucky.”

“No, I’m lucky.” Susan kissed his lips tenderly. She started to cry because he was crying. They wiped off each other’s tears. “You don’t have to be afraid of relationships anymore. I know you are. I was too.”

He pressed his face against hers. “It’s hard to move on. Damn hard.”

“I know what happened to you.” She stroked his hair, curl by curl. “And you heard about Mark.”

Mark was shot down during a gas station robbery. He was paying for his gas and a robbery got out of hand, and a random bullet came his way, ending his life.

But that was the end of talking.

Susan unbuckled his belt, and Craig slid down his boxer briefs. He was painfully hard, each throb an indication he hadn’t been laid in a long time. They grinded against each other and built up the sexual tension. She kept whispering for him not to penetrate, urging him to tease her. Her mouth roamed his neck, ears, and up and down his chest. Every girl had her special moves, but he had moves of his own. Craig cupped one side of her buttock. He reached his finger between her legs, checking. She was already wet, and he massaged her, spreading that wetness.

Overtaken with the heat of passion, they fell backwards onto the bed. He was already inside her. She cooed upon the first thrust, reaching out her arms and grasping the iron headboard, her muscles taut and stretched to their maximum. He kissed her breasts, biting at the budding nipples, and he might’ve bit too hard, he thought, when she yipped. “Oh, Craig!”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

She pushed his head back down to her chest. “No, it feels fucking good.”

He rocked gently inside her, careful not to test his endurance. She was tighter than Katie. He was ashamed to form that distinction, but it happened unconsciously. Her kisses tasted different too. The flavor of her skin was saltier. He could smell her pussy, and it aroused him. Susan reached around and played with his balls, tickling them, carefully raking her nails down the circumference.

He was surprised by how much she liked to play with him. “You like to touch them, huh? Most girls find them unattractive.”

“They bring you satisfaction,” she purred, bearing a hint of what else she wanted to do to “satisfy” him. “I hear touching them during sex increases the potency of your orgasm.”

Susan wrapped her legs around his back, reclaiming her prey. “Now fuck me.”

So a few thrusts later, he was on the verge of finishing, and he had to take it slow. “It’s hard to hold back,” he grunted, knowing she’d notice his hesitation.

They slowed down, relishing the moment, grinding at a slow rate. She eyed him with zeal as she lay flat against the bed and began touching herself. She kept her orgasm in the running, and she talked about her body. “I don’t get the big orgasm. I get little ones. It’s like a small step up a long climb. Each step brings me closer to the top. It’s all good, don’t worry, Craig.”

“Then good, because I think I’m ready to pump you hard again…maybe.”

 

 

He cradled Susan. She was asleep. She was at peace, her face tranquil, and maybe dreaming. He played his fingers through the strands of her hair, enjoying her. She shifted, moaning softly, and drifted back to rest. “This is what could’ve been, huh?”

Susan didn’t wake.

Craig looked about the room. There were acrylic paintings of monarch butterflies and one of those 3-D optical illusion pictures. Ah, let me guess, it’s of a butterfly.

He could never see those things. He couldn’t cross his eyes hard enough.

The vanity mirror was sixty percent covered in 3x5 pictures. Friends, her two sisters, and the singles club mostly. Her closet door was open, showing the dresses, work clothes, and an ironing board folded up inside. It was strange how realistic all this was, making it easy to forget none of this had actually happened. Dr. Krone’s machine was ingenious. Whatever allowed this to exist, it was amazing. He felt alive. Relieved too. Deep down, he regretted the way he had treated Susan.

The idea of what could’ve been was bittersweet.

He relaxed in bed, letting the scene play out as it was going to play out, and he closed his eyes to sleep.

 

 

If he made a sound, Craig would hear him, so Dr. Krone kept his movements to a minimum. The treatment was coming along nicely. The patient was accepting his medicine, so to speak. He stood in the hallway by the door outside the bedroom. He’d tucked his pad of paper in his back pocket a long time ago. It was useless now. His clinical observations ended when the sex began.

He liked to watch.

Those moments were his favorite.

Almost his favorite.