Apartment Eight Makes A Golden Challenge - Sex Stories

Apartment Eight Makes A Golden Challenge

... said, “I’m sure you can triangulate it or whatever. Just be there.” A little engine sound gurgled in Vasily’s throat. She picked up the post-it note from the bar counter and held it up. “Remember,” she said, “we have a contract… bitch.” ****** When Vasily was a young teenager, he and his friends used to hang out at an old abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city. Forget Disneyland, what could be more fun than running around in a cavernous, feral cat infested, building of crumbling brick and iron, smashing windows, leaping off rusted hunks of machinery, and banging angrily on pipes and chains? Well, Vasily’s friends loved causing a commotion more than he did, actually. While they scrambled around amongst the factory ruins, hooting and hollering like a bunch of Lost Boys, he preferred to focus and find a rhythm drumming on the various pipes and sheets of metal scattered around. It didn’t take him too long to shut out the noise and discord created by his peers. He just concentrated, listened to the rhythm and music he heard between the cacophony, and lost himself in his own calm, his own pleasure. Many years later, he found himself doused in chaos once more, at the center of it, in fact. The audience at Fawns Over Foxes erupted the moment he stepped onto the stage. A wall of white light slammed him in the face, while the women’s whistles, screeches and cat calls nearly blew him over. He clutched his prop bat a little tighter, grinding his teeth slightly as he fought ...

... through this momentary sense of loss he was feeling. His brain had to reboot. Behind the main scrum of women crammed on the floor around the runway, on the upper tier of the club by the bar, Carie sat on a stool facing the stage. She mindlessly chewed on the straw sticking up from her tall glass of Long Island Iced tea as she watched the action, or lack thereof. Vasily hadn’t moved from the launch pad. At first when she had sat down twenty minutes ago, she sported an immovable smile and the giddiness of anticipation made her feel like she had just won a trip to Bermuda. She was ready to see Vasily “shake it” and put on a show. Now, with the seconds ticking by since the curtain pulled back and he stood there on stage, showcasing his peculiar talent of impersonating a rock at the most inopportune time, she started to worry. “Move,” she mumbled, thinking the word might find its way through the swath of lustful humanity surrounding the stage. She continued to grind the plastic straw between her molars. Vasily was still stuck. “ Please move, Vasily,” she urged again. She bounced her leg over her bended knee anxiously. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Truthfully, the crowd seemed so hot for him right now that it bought him a bit of time. Vasily could have pulled out a newspaper and started reading and that still would have managed to get a few of the patrons wet. However, at his periphery, he could see Johnny standing just off stage looking like he was getting a bit antsy and ...