All characters appearing or mentioned in this story are 18 years old or older. This story is a work of fiction and any reference or description to actual persons is unintentional.
If you are enjoying these stories, leave a comment about what you liked or didn't, or things you want to ready more of. I'll take advice into consideration when I'm working out the next parts of the LoP stories.
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Late December 1999
One of the really fun things I'd discovered about living in Portland are the shear number of two things: music venues and strip clubs.
Portland has, per capita, the largest number of strip clubs in the country. Seriously, look it up. It also has a great many venues, both large and small, for music. There are jazz spots, rock joints, and more than a fair few places where you can go and get your ears blown out listening to punk rock.
On this particular Friday, I'd convinced Alina, who was not the type of woman who'd go to a punk show, to actually go. No mean feat, let me tell you.
She was finished with her internship, was back in Portland, and wanted to get together. Of course I'd said yes and I certainly knew what she meant by 'get together', but I was also genuinely wanting to spend time with her.
Not because she was basically Tyra Banks with close cropped hair. And not because she was a literal professional when it came to the sexual arts. But because she was just plain fun and interesting to hang out with.
Don't get me wrong; I wanted this absolute embodiment of female perfection in my bed desperately. But I knew that would happen. What I wasn't expecting was for her to say OK to a night of riding the train to go to a dive club on the edge of town to hear too loud music for a $5 cover charge. That one surprised me.
"I don't see why you're surprised I'd come to something like this," she said as we were walking out of the club. Our ears were just getting back to a normal decibel hearing level so we weren't yelling at each other as we walked through south east Portland.
As we walked I couldn't help but stare a little (or a lot) at the woman on my arm. Her dark hazelnut complexion was perfect and blemish free. She had chosen a bright red lipstick for the evening and was wearing knee high boots over form fitting jeans, a sweater that had a ridiculously deep and revealing V in the front, and a scarf that was wrapped around her close-cropped hair with a large knot at the front, and wrapped in a short jean jacket with holes in it. She was gorgeous in every sense of the word, looking like she was from some exotic locale.
At least, if you considered her home town of New York exotic I mean.
"Because," I said, "and I put this delicately as I can... you seem way, way too high class for punks shows and crappy beer.
"And, if I'm being honest... walking. I mean, a few blocks, sure. But we hiked like a mile or more to that club and then it's another mile back. Then a train ride.
"It's just you seem to prefer the more fancy modes of transportation and nightly festivities."
As we walked, her arm locked into mine, she looked at me sideways.
"Firstly, its pretty generous calling that a club, even by punk standards. Also, did you buy a thesaurus while I was out of town," she jibbed.
"And to answer you question," she said after laughing at my expense, "while limos and crab dinners are enjoyable, I'm still the same young person you are. Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"I mean, c'mon, I am *way* hotter than you are," she said, smiling widely.
"I will freely admin that," I told her. "I'd make a terrible, not to mention ugly woman."
"I meant that I still like to have crazy, raucous fun with people my own age. Much of the time I'm either with older people in an office who don't like me for my youth and inexperience. Or with older gentlemen showing me off to other older gentlemen, who aren't interested in anything other than my youth and looks."
"I'm sorry I doubted your... youthful vigor?"
She leaned up and kissed me on the cheek. Despite it being wet and cold, her lips warmed me to the core.
"When it comes to my vigor," she said, "you know I have it to spare."
Indeed, I certainly knew that.
We stopped by a 24hr cafe for a late night snack of waffles. It was much more enjoyable than the overpriced, watered down beer and stale pretzels from the show. Not to mention the company.
Still, even at 11pm at a diner, Alina drew stares from nearly everyone, men and women. She was a stunner and I looked just tragically underdone, in my baggy pants and hole riddled sweater, compared to the woman sitting across from me.
We finished our food and departed for the train station. The schedule said there was one more coming in about fifteen minutes. Not terrible; we only had to sit on a unlit bench for a quarter of an hour in a rougher part of town in the dark of night.
"You know," Alina said as we took a seat on the cold concrete bench, "if we have time, we could get a start on the real reason I wanted to see you tonight."
"Gasp," I said mockingly, holding my palm to my chest. "You mean to say my company was not enough? Now you must have my virtue as well?"
"Ha," she barked, "virtuous, my good sir, you are not. Wickedly naughty may be more appropriate."
"Fair enough," I said, sidling close to Alina on the bench. I mocked yawning an put my arm around her, pulling her slightly closer.
"Oh, that was smooth," she said deadpan, running a hand up my thigh.
I similarly moved my other hand to her firm, supple thigh. I stroked lightly back and forth until, slowly, looking her in the eyes, I moved my hand higher. Her lips were slightly parted as my hand approached her most delicate of folds, stopping finally at the top of her inner thigh.
I briefly massaged the area my hand was at, feeling the flesh beneath her jeans, as well lightly rubbing that intersection of stitching in the gusset. It was situated directly over her sex, and provide a fun button to push her with.
"This seems familiar," she said in a loud whisper, "like in the back of that limo you took me out in."
