I hadn't seen or heard from Hannah since the last time I was in New York to do a poetry reading at the public library. That was two years ago and now I was back to do a reading at Barnes and Noble from my recently published book, Morning Songs. Hannah had been careful not to tell me where she lived or give me any information about her, so I had no way to let her know.
I try not to have expectations and have learned that when I don’t have expectations, I am never disappointed, and often I am surprised. Still, I hoped she would have seen the posters advertising the reading and show up.
Just before the reading was to begin and people where gathering in the bookstore café, I was delighted to see Hannah walk in. My heart leaped with surprise and gladness. I guess she must have seen the posters advertising the reading. Our eyes met and we nodded our greeting. She smiled and walked to the counter to order a coffee while I shuffled through the pages in the book and some new poems I was going to read. We kept glancing at each other.
When I noticed what she was wearing I wondered whether she was dressing in order to make something happen later. She looked really hot in a short black tight miniskirt that was high on her thighs, a tight black turtle neck shirt, a black kerchief around her neck, dangling earrings and cowboy boots. Her long black curly hair was flowing wildly half way down her back. I could not help but see her tits straining her tight shirt, and it was clear she was not wearing a bra. She looked sexy and knew it. This was not the way she usually dressed for work. Normally, she dressed in loose paisley peasant skirts, blouses and generally more conservatively. Tonight, she was dressing to seduce me, perhaps living in one of her secret fantasies.
I looked down at my poetry then at her as she took a seat at a table near the front but off to the side. Our eyes met as she sipped her coffee, looking over the rim at me. She then put her cup down and leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs, her skirt higher on her thighs, her tits stretching the tight turtle neck shirt. Our eyes met again and I remember her smile when she tilted her head, gesturing for me to come over to her.
People were still coming in and getting settled as I walked over to her table. I stood looking down at her, loving how her barely covered leg moved back and forth in the short skirt and boots. She was definitely teasing me.
“Well, hello,” I said, smiling at her. “I was wondering whether you would come to my reading.”
“You were, were you?” she answered, coyly.
“Yes, I was hoping to see you again.”
“Well, here I am,” she said, grinning at me.
“Yes, and looking quite nice.”
“Nice, huh,” she said, a frown replacing her smile. “Nice?”
“Well, maybe nice isn't the right word,” I said, realizing she was not trying to look nice, but was sending me another message, which she was doing loud and clear.
“Right, ‘Nice’ is not the right word,” she said, “but thanks. I know what you meant.”
“What are you doing after the reading?” I asked.
“What would you like me to do after the reading?” she answered, smiling playfully.
“You know the answer to that question," I said, both of us enjoying our teasing little game.
“So, how are things with you and your boyfriend? Does he still not know about your secret fantasy life?”
“Doesn't have a clue and doesn't need to know.”
I nodded realizing she was still living her secret life.
“We're very happy. He's a great guy and we share a lot of interests, but he just doesn't have the sex drive or imagination I have.”
“So, you still have your secret life.”
“Right, now can we drop that? I don't want to go there."
“I understand,” I said, seeing a little discomfort, a brief awkwardness.
“I'm here for your poetry and maybe we can hang out later,” she said, smiling up at me.
“Sounds good,” I answered, “I would love to hang out with you later.”
“Me, too,” she said, our eye locked on each other.
I could feel myself getting hard when she said that but had to focus on my reading. I glanced up at the clock and around the room and saw everyone was settled and waiting.
“You're not making it easy for me to give a poetry reading," I said, my leg rubbing against her thigh, my cock straining against my jeans.
“Good,” she said, glancing at my bulge, “I like making it hard for you,” she added knowing I would enjoy her pun.
“You do, do you?” I responded, my cock growing harder, forcing me to hold my book of poems in front of me to conceal what was happening. “You're bad,” I said.
“I know. Are you going to punish me?”
“Yes,” I said then bent down and whispered in her ear. “And then I'm going to fuck you for real.”
“You think so, do you?”
“I know so,” I said, just as the woman who was introducing me went to the lectern.
I stood at Hannah's table, my leg gently touching hers, watching the woman put on the horn-rimmed glasses hanging from a thin strap, then looking down at her notes and mentioned some of the places I had published and how my new book had won first prize in a competition and publication. I went to the lectern, nodded to the audience as they applauded, glanced over at Hannah, our eyes meeting, a slight smile on her lips and then began the reading.
I mentioned some things about the poems then started reading, stopping to tell the story of how I wrote a particular poem, read a few more, and said a few more things that brought laughter. I looked at a few people as I read, trying to make eye contact. People were attentive, responsive and I noticed one woman jotting down some lines in a note book.
I looked over at Hannah who listened attentively, our eyes meeting. I knew she loved literature and was well read. She had majored in English at NYU and I could tell she liked my poetry. When I looked over at her, I tried unsuccessfully not to think about how sexy and beautiful she looked in a feeble attempt to stay focused, but the next poem brought me back to the reading. I concluded the reading with Choosing an Illusion, the same poem I read and dedicated to her two years earlier. Again, when I ended it, our eyes lingered on each other before I acknowledged the applause and thanked people for coming and said I would sign books, if they wanted.
Several people came up to the lectern with their books and we chatted. Hannah watched from her table, our eyes meeting as I glanced over at her. At one point she smiled, her tongue licking her lower lip, and I was ready to get out of there. Still, people gathered around me, making small talk about how they liked a certain poem, or how a poem reminded them of some other poem they loved. I was patient, nodding politely, but still anxious to be out of there and be with Hannah.
Finally, everyone left and Hannah came up to me as I put my book and folder of new poems into my little brief case.
“You're quite the poet,” she said. “I love how you read. You’re very passionate.”
“Thanks," I nodded, "But now I want to celebrate with you.”
“Hmmmmm, sounds interesting,” she said. “What do you have in mind?”
“Champagne and a little bit of this and that.”
"Good idea. I would love to celebrate with you and I adore champagne.”
“And I know the place,” I said.
“Our hotel room from two years ago?” she asked.
“Nope,” I said, “my brother's penthouse on 87 th. He's out of town and couldn't be here tonight but said I could stay at his place.”
“Nice," Hannah smiled, “what luck.”
“And I happen to have champagne.”
“Even luckier,” she said, standing closer to me, the aroma of her perfume enticing me, her tits pressed gently against my arm.
“It's not luck,” I said. “I wasn't sure if we would meet but thought if we did, I knew what I wanted to have happen.”
“You did, did you? And what did you want to have happen?”
“Well, you know what a little champagne can do when two people who want each other get together to celebrate.”
“You’re filled with inspiration, aren't you?” she said, smiling into my eyes.
“I am. Let's get out of here,” I answered, picking up my brief case.
As we left, I glanced up at the poster of me at the book store entrance. She smiled as we both looked at it. "You're better looking in person," she said.
“Thanks,” I responded, looking at my beard and longish grey hair, my eyes looking as if I was seeing something in the distance, which I wasn't.
“You look more youthful and energetic in person. You look too serious in that poster.”
“That's my poet pose the publisher's photographer wanted,” I chuckled.
“Right and not the older guy picking up a young woman in cafés look,” she said with a slight smirk on her lips.
I nodded and took her hand as we left the bookstore.
My brother's apartment was two blocks away. It was about nine-thirty and I was amazed at how crowded the streets were.
“So many people out walking,” I said. “Not like my town where the streets are empty by seven.”
“This is New York, buddy. The city that never sleeps,” she said, as we weaved in and out of people.
Hannah was definitely a New Yorker, walking quickly, crossing the street just as the yellow hand on the traffic light came on telling us to stop. “Come on,” she yelled over the honking horns and a siren. I followed her as she dashed across the busy street.
When we entered the apartment building, the doorman smiled, saluting me in greeting and glanced at Hannah. “Have a nice night,” he said, smiling at me as I pressed the elevator button.
“Wait 'til you see this apartment,” I said as we went up to the thirtieth floor. "It's like a museum. The guy who owns the apartment is a collector of everything and there is so much to see. You won't believe it.”
“Isn't this your brother's place?” Hannah asked.
“No, he just stays here, it's a long story I'll tell you sometime, but he’s lived her for ten years. It's quite a place and the guy whose apartment it is went away for a few weeks.”
Finally, the last ping of the elevator bell let us know we were at the end of the line.
“Here we are,” I said as the elevator door opened on the thirtieth floor and we walked down the dimly lit hall to the penthouse apartment.
When we entered, Hannah's eyes widened when she saw the huge collection of sea shells on a long breakfront, the walls were filled with paintings. We walked into the dining room with a long table cluttered with an assortment of little glass statues, colorful porcelain bowls and dishes, more sea shells, a bowl of painted Russian marble eggs. I took her through the many rooms filled with objects in every corner.
“My brother says this place is decorated in early clutter,” I said.
Hannah nodded and chuckled. “I can see why.”
I went into the kitchen to grab the champagne from the refrigerator and some glasses.
“Stand back while I open the bottle,” I said, peeling the wrapping around the top. I began twisting the cork and started singing the nursery rhyme, “Here we go round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush” and just as the cork came off with a pop, I sang, “Pop goes the weasel.”
Hannah laughed as the champagne bubbled up and sprayed. “You're so elegant,” she said as I poured her a glass and handed it to her. I then poured mine and we clicked glasses. “La Chaiym,” we both said at the same time, a Jewish cheer that means, “To Life!”
We then walked out to the large balcony that surrounds the apartment and looked out at the lights of the city. We stood there in the cool night air, sipping our champagne, enjoying each other's company and relaxing. The full moon was bright in the eastern sky.
“This is nice,” she said, standing next to me, our arms touching as we looked out at the city.
“It is,” I agreed, enjoying feeling her body, noticing how her nipples pressed against her tight black shirt, how her ass and legs looked in the short black skirt, her cowboy boots just below her knees.
We finished our champagne and we went back into the apartment. I poured each of us another glass and we sat on the large sofa in the living room. She looked around the room again, absorbing everything. We were quiet, uncertain how we would approach each other as we sat, drinking, anticipating.
“So here we are,” she said. “Two strangers, who met in a café two years ago, had a secret fling and that was that that.”
“Right and here we are again, two years later,” I said, sipping my champagne, our eyes meeting.
Hannah nodded, took a big sip of her champagne and handed the glass to me. "How about a refill, Mister," she said, looking into my eyes.
I reached for the bottle on the small table next to me and poured the champagne into her glass for the third time and more into mine, emptying the bottle.
We clicked glasses again then drank the champagne, our eyes looking at each other, both of us feeling woozy, our lust rising. Hannah moved away from me towards the arm of the couch, leaned back and put her feet up, her boots on my lap, her skirt high up on her thigh.
“I'm feeling drunk and dangerous,” she said, spreading her legs, her tits straining at her tight shirt, the nipples like little peaks on the hills of her breasts.
“You're looking pretty dangerous," I said, my already hard cock getting harder as I looked at her legs and tits, loving how she leaned back, her dark curly hair falling well below her shoulders, her warm brown eyes looking into mine.
I moved my hand to her leg, just above her knee and started to rub her thigh, enjoying her soft warm olive skin. She spread her legs apart, her boot on the bulge in my jeans.
“No fucking,” she said, “just playing like we do in fantasy land on the internet.”
“We're not in fantasy land, Hannah,” I said, as I rubbed higher on her thigh. “And we did cross the Rubicon two years ago.”
“I know, but that was then and this is now. I love being here with you, but still, tonight we can do everything but not actually fuck," she said, moving her foot harder against my cock.
“You like playing with fire, don't you,” I said.
“I do. I like danger. I like playing and teasing, but we will not fuck--that's the rule.”
We were both drunk, touching each other, my cock throbbing under her boot.
“Is that cool with you?” she asked.
“No, it's not cool with me,” I answered, looking into her eyes.
“Well, it better be because we're just going to masturbate and pretend we're fucking. Get it!” she said, as if ordering me.
“I get what you're saying but that's not what's going to happen. You can't dress like that, get drunk with me and think we're not going to fuck.”
“I just want to play like we are secret lovers and this is our fantasy like in cyber space. It's not really fucking if we masturbate together. I'm not really cheating on my boy friend.”
I looked at her and moved my hand further up her thigh, until I was under her skirt, just below her pussy.
“We'll see," I said as I placed my hand on her pussy and started rubbing.