Now or Never: A Last Chance Romance (Part 1) by Logan Belle

wonder.  Even in my twenties I never looked like this.  Of course I’ve seen bodies like this in magazines and movies, but never in person.
    “You can look and you can touch.”
    I lose my breath for a moment.
    She takes my hands, and puts them on her breasts.  I’m awed by the feel of her soft, smooth skin giving off heat.
    “Have you ever kissed a girl?”
    “Um, no,” I tell her.  And I’m not so sure I want to start now.  But at the same time, I am at this place because I am on a quest — a quest to do the things that have passed me by.  It’s not about what I should do, or would ordinarily do, or even necessarily have real desire to do.  It’s about experience, pure and simple.
    She leans close and kisses me.  Cinnamon.
    Her mouth is soft, and it feels different than kissing a guy.  Strange and familiar at the same time, and not at all wrong or weird or a turn-off.  I can’t help but think it’s bizarre to kiss and touch someone who’s being paid for it.  But if Kat finds this to be a chore in any way, she does a good job of hiding it.
    I’ve never thought about a woman sexually.  But here, with Kat, it feels instinctive to want to touch and be close to her beauty.  It’s so unreal, doesn’t feel like I’m doing anything odd.  She’s as unthreatening as a flower, and as I kiss her, I thread my hands through her hair, amazed by its luxurious thickness.
    She straddles me on the bench, and we’re kissing and it’s so alien to have my arms around her thin frame.  Her hands stroke my arms, then my breasts over my dress.  I feel a pulse of heat between my legs — something I didn’t feel when kissing Allen.  Something I haven’t felt with another person in a very, very, long time.  But this strange woman has flipped some sort of switch.
    “Time’s up,” a man calls outside the curtain.
    I jump, snapped out of the moment as abruptly as waking to an alarm.
    Kat swings one leg off the bench and moves away.  With a smile, she helps me to my feet.
    I follow her out of the alcove, into the main room, which now feels too bright and loud.  Sensory overload.
    I’m relieved to see Justin sitting where I left him, not with a dancer, not even watching the stage.  He’s looking right at me, as if expecting me that very moment.
    “How’d it go?”
    I sit in the chair next to him, feeling shaky and overwhelmed.
    “Can you take me home?”
    “Sure.  Wait here.  I’ll get our coats.”  He pats my knee reassuringly, and disappears into the growing crowd.  I feel raw and vulnerable waiting for him, and when he returns with my coat, I practically lean into him as he helps me on with it.
    Outside, South Street is bustling.  Justin casts concerned glances at me.  “You don’t have to tell me anything about it.  Just tell me you’re okay.”
    “I’m fine,” I say.  And I do feel better.  I just needed a minute to recover – to get my bearings.
    He turns on the radio, and we drive to the suburbs in something close to companionably silence.  Except there’s an electricity in the air, as if the energy of the strip club, of that girl, clings to me — my clothes, my very breath.  And now that it’s the two of us alone, I find myself fighting the urge to reach out and touch him.
     
    It’s pitch black when he pulls into my driveway.  I forgot to leave the front lights on.
    “So at least tell me this, did you have fun?” he asks, turning off the engine.
    “Yeah,” I say.  “I did.  Thanks.  That was definitely…different.”  I shift in my seat, suddenly self-conscious under his searching eyes.
    “I’m happy to see you’re able to be in the moment.”
    “Oh?  Did you have doubts?”
    “I did.  You can be a little uptight.  But I was pleasantly surprised tonight.”
    “Don’t patronize me.”
    “I was paying you a compliment.  Which, by the way, you never take very well.”
    “Okay, well.  Thanks.  And speaking of paying, I meant what I said about not